


Please Remember...

by PerfectStorm



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, American Sign Language, Amnesia, Aversion Therapy, Capture, Deaf Clint Barton, Disguise, F/M, Flashbacks, Hospitalization, M/M, Molestation, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychotherapy, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Suicide Attempt, Threats, Threats of Violence, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectStorm/pseuds/PerfectStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after The Avengers take down HYDRA, Steve finally finds Bucky and they are reunited. Except, Bucky has lost almost all of his memory and he doesn't even know Steve anymore. He doesn't even know himself, and demands that everyone call him James. Soon after, James is recaptured by a new HYDRA regime and the Avengers are all thrust into chaos, distrust, anger, resentment, and pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first Avengers/Captain America fic, so I'm not yet an expert, but I'll do my very best. Feel free to leave a helpful comment!

It had been almost six months since HYDRA had been taken down. A quiet six months for Steve. After almost a month of scouring the Earth for Bucky, Natasha had quietly suggested to Steve that he let Bucky come to him. As it turned out, that hadn’t been such a good idea.

It hadn’t been a quiet six months for Bucky, but Steve couldn’t have known that. Natasha and Steve lived in identical apartments one floor apart from each other in the building beside the Stark Tower. Natasha preferred living in the penthouse of the building, and Steve just didn’t care. He liked being close to Natasha, though. She always showed up at his apartment at seven o’clock, sometimes with Clint tagging along, with some Russian meal in containers that Steve had never heard of. Natasha’s cooking tended to be hit-or-miss, leaning usually towards miss.

Tony and Bruce had disappeared practically the day after they helped take down HYDRA to go on some world-tour, sharing their medical and technological wisdom and expertise with multimillion corporations around the world. They sent Steve and Natasha postcards from wherever they landed each day, and Steve taped them to one of the walls in his tiny kitchen. He hadn’t had enough money to travel as a kid, and now seeing the collage of postcards on his wall made him feel like he was traveling along with Tony and Bruce.  
On November 8th, there was a raging blizzard in New York City, layering the windows of Steve’s apartment with sheets of white mist. Natasha texted Steve to tell him that she was feeling too lazy to cook that night, but she’d be watching a Buffy The Vampire Slayer marathon if he cared to join her. Steve didn’t love that show, and decided to just stay in and cook for himself that night. His phone was sitting behind him on the table as he stood at the stove and slowly mixed the pot of stew he had cooking, and when his phone started to buzz, he took no notice of it, deciding to wait until he was done cooking to answer it. It’s probably just Tasha trying to convince me to go upstairs and watch TV with her, Steve thought. His phone stopped buzzing for only a moment, and then started up again. The stew was four minutes away from perfection. His phone buzzed three more times before Steve finally turned off the burner, poured some of the stew into a bowl, and sat down at his kitchen table to check his phone. He had five new voicemails from Clint.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

“Steve, you need to calm down,” were Clint’s first words as Steve burst through the white double doors of the intensive care unit. Clint already had his arms and elbows up to hold Steve back in case he tried to muscle his way into the care rooms.

“Shut up. Where is he?” Steve asked, and Clint grabbed his arms, trying to pin him down to the spot so he wouldn’t cause a scene. The other people in the waiting room glanced nervously at the two large men arguing in the middle of the room, the larger blond one visibly upset and shaking.

“He’s being cared for by the best doctors and surgeons this hospital has. Don’t worry, Steve. They’re going to come and get us as soon as he’s out of surgery,” Clint assured him, trying to instill his own calmness to Steve, who was glancing around the room at the people staring at them.

“Did they say-”

“He jumped from a building. Trying to kill himself, they said,” Clint whispered, and the surprise almost took Steve to his knees. Clint used the opportunity to push Steve down into a plastic chair and whip his cellphone out to call Natasha.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Natasha arrived while Clint and Steve were still waiting, and Steve had his head down between his knees while Clint awkwardly patted his back. Natasha silently gestured for Clint to move over, and when she replaced him, she put her arms around Steve’s back.

“Don’t worry, Steve, he’s going to be fine. He’s tough. He’ll pull through,” she murmured, glancing at Clint to see if what she was saying was true. He met her eyes sadly and shrugged.

“Mr. Barton?” a timid voice asked, and Steve was on his feet and out of Tasha’s arms before she had a chance to react. Clint stood up too and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, while Tasha squeezed his hand.

“How is he? Is he alive?” Steve demanded of the young, short doctor standing in front of him. She was trying to keep a professional face but Natasha could tell that the doctor was intimidated by the three of them.

“Just tell us,” Natasha coaxed, tamping down on her growing concern and irritation. Was this tiny doctor trying to draw out telling them that he was dead?

“Mr. Barnes is in critical condition, but he’s alive,” the doctor explained quietly, and Steve let out a deep breath and slumped back down into his chair.

“We had to repair several broken ribs,” the doctor continued, “broken sternum, fractured skull, broken femurs, concussion, ruptured lungs, but he’s...strong.” Steve could tell that the doctor didn’t understand how Bucky could survive such a fall. He didn’t bother telling her about the serum. The metal arm had probably scared her enough.

“He’ll have to be in the hospital for several weeks, but we expect him to make a full recovery,” she told them.

“Thank God,” Steve breathed, and Tasha gripped his arm tightly for support. 

“Is there anything else, doctor?” Clint asked when the doctor seemed hesitant to leave. She was watching Steve carefully, afraid to upset him, and she tucked her brown hair behind her ear before saying, “We're keeping him sedated right now so that his injuries won't pain him, but we're afraid...” 

“Tell us,” Tasha snapped.

“We're afraid that his fractured skull and concussion will cause him to have some severe memory loss that could end up being permanent.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally wakes up and Steve's fears are confirmed.

“Steve, we really should go home. It’s been a long night, and he’s not going to wake up until they take him off sedation...” Nat said quietly.

“No. What if the serum makes him fight off the sedation, and he wakes up, and I’m not here?” Steve argued, pushing Nat’s hand off of him as he sat in the waiting room for the ICU. Clint was off in the corner on a videocall signing with Tony, but Steve was too distressed to understand what they were saying. 

“Steve, listen to me,” Natasha said, grabbing Steve’s head and facing him towards her so he’d pay attention, “Have you considered how he’s going to be if he wakes up and doesn’t have memory loss? He’s still going to be The Winter Soldier. He’s going to try to kill you.”

“No, he wouldn’t. We had a moment, up on the helicarrier, where he remembered who I was. What I meant to him,” Steve responded, pulling away from her again. The waiting room had emptied out and now at 4:00 in the morning, Clint, Steve, and Natasha were on the only ones there. Besides the woman at the front desk, who was asleep on her keyboard.

“Well, I’m going down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Do you want anything?” Nat asked Steve, but he shook his head and slid lower in his seat. Natasha got to her feet warily and gestured for Clint to follow her down to the cafeteria. When they were both gone, Steve let out a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his sore face. He wasn’t used to feeling so wiped out and tired, but it had been a long night, and he wanted more than anything for Bucky to wake up and say that he remembered Steve, that he no longer desired to kill him, that he loved Steve and always had...

But it was just an errant hope. The doctor had said that he would most likely had memory loss. Steve had to accept that, and hope the memories Bucky had lost were the painful ones from HYDRA and not the ones of him and Steve.

“Mr. Rogers?” The same doctor who’d given them the news about Bucky’s condition came out of the patient area and stood in front of Steve with a clipboard.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is. Now, I must warn you, he’s in pretty bad condition, and he can’t speak from the trauma to his throat and larynx, but if you want to go in and see if he remembers you, you can.”

Steve practically shoved past the doctor to get into the ICU patient area, and she led him to a room in the back. Steve went inside and shut the door before taking a deep breath and turning around to see Bucky for the first time in months.

He looked worse than Steve’s imagination had conjured, and Steve was breathless as he stared at the broken man in the bed. Bucky’s head was wrapped in thick, bloody gauze, halfway covering his right eye, which was bruised, just like the rest of his face. He wore also a foam neck brace. His flesh arm was in a cast and so was his hand, and his torso was wrapped so thickly in gauze that he looked like a swollen Michelin man, except Steve didn’t find it funny. It made him want to cry, and tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. Bucky’s legs were in casts too; the only thing not wrapped or covered in gauze was his metal arm, which looked perfectly intact as it rested beside his body, tied down to the bed with cloth straps usually used to tie psychotic patients down.

Bucky stared at Steve blankly and didn’t move, not that he could. Steve went to sit in the chair beside Bucky’s bed and Bucky’s eyes followed his movements slowly. Steve knew that Bucky couldn’t talk, but he hoped that maybe he remembered enough sign language from their childhood to communicate with him.

“I’m going to untie your arm now, but I don’t want you trying to hurt me with it. If you know sign language, I want to ask you some questions,” Steve explained, his voice was rough and scratchy from the tears. Bucky’s eyes widened as Steve went around to the other side of the bed and unclipped the metal buckle holding Bucky’s arm down. He lifted his arm and stretched out his fingers, testing them, while Steve went back to his seat. Before he could ask Bucky anything, Bucky brought his metal hand to his chin and signed, “Who are you?”

It was true. Steve couldn’t decide whether to be happy that Bucky no longer wanted to kill him or crestfallen that Bucky couldn’t remember him. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut and small tears started to dabble down his cheeks. Bucky looked nervous as he watched Steve stare at him and silently cry, so he continued, “Should I know you? Who are you?”

“I’m Steve,” he signed back, but Bucky continued to look worried and confused.

“I’m sorry...” Bucky signed awkwardly, looking away from Steve in embarrassment.

“Steve.” A soft voice came from the doorway and Steve felt Natasha’s hands on his shoulders. “Stop crying. You’re scaring him.”

“I’m sorry!” Steve cried, but now he couldn’t imagine a worse fate for Bucky. Now he wished Bucky was jumping out of that bed and trying to strangle him, because it at least meant that he knew who he was, that Steve wasn’t some stranger to him. The door opened again and the doctor came in, and through blurry eyes, Steve saw some kind of clear tube in her hands.

“I’m going to feed him now, so you should-”

“No, I want to be here for him!” Steve said, turning back towards Bucky, who looked confused and uncomfortable. Steve knew he had to get himself under control but he just felt like his world was shattering and he couldn’t quite pick the pieces up as fast as they were falling.

“It’s not something you want to see, Steve. Come on, come with me. Into the hallway.” Steve let Nat pull him out of the room, and the doctor shut the door behind them, locking it for good measure. She also shut the blinds so that Steve couldn’t see in.

“Natasha, I just need...I just need...” he choked.

“You need some food, and some water, and some rest. Come on, let’s go home. We’ll come back as soon as you’ve slept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment with notes for improvement! I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets back from vacation, Tony and Bruce get back from their world tour, and Steve starts to tell Bucky about himself.

In the morning, when it had stopped snowing, Steve was just getting out of a freezing shower when he heard knocking on his front door. He knew it wasn’t Nat or Clint, because they both had keys of their own, so Steve quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his hips. He padded over to the door and opened it a fraction, peeking around to see who had been knocking.

“Miss me?” Sam said, standing on the door mat with an athletic bag strung over his shoulder and a genuine smile on his face. Steve stared at Sam in shock and embarrassment. He had completely forgotten that Sam was coming back today, amidst all the Bucky drama. No one had even told Sam that they’d found Bucky. Oh no.

Sam nudged his way into the apartment and set down his bag on the floor before taking Steve’s shoulders and leaning up to kiss him gently.

“I guess someone forgot I was coming home today,” he murmured. You have no idea, Steve thought, laughing weakly.

“I did forget,” Steve admitted, pulling away from his boyfriend and turning around to go back to his bedroom.

“Let me get dressed real quick, and I’ll make you breakfast,” he called over his shoulder. He was eager as hell to get back to the hospital, but he wasn’t sure about telling Sam about Bucky yet. Even though Sam wasn’t the jealous type, Steve couldn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes tightened when someone mentioned Steve and Bucky’s past. Steve couldn’t deny that he loved Bucky, but Sam thought that maybe that love overstepped just best friends and seeped into the romantic side. Steve couldn’t sort out whether it did or not, so for now, he simply focused on putting on clothes and pulling himself together.

It turned out that he didn’t have to tell Sam about Bucky. When he walked back into the living room, Natasha was there, already in the middle of telling him. Sam turned to look at Steve with worry and a tiny bit of pity.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, hurt in his eyes as he sat down on the couch and scratched his head. He started rummaging through his athletic bag.

“I’m sorry, I was just about to,” Steve said, but his words were meaningless. The fact that Nat had had a chance to tell him before Steve did made it seem like Steve had been trying to hide it from him.

“I’m gonna...” Natasha quickly signed to Steve that she was sorry when Sam wasn’t looking and scampered out of the apartment, shutting the door behind her.

“While I was in Hawaii, I got this for you. It reminded me of you,” Sam said, taking something out of his bag and carrying it over to Steve. He couldn’t see what it was until he was holding it in his palms.

He let out an unexpected laugh at the tiny clay fat man in a grass skirt and wearing a pink lei he held in his hands. Sam chuckled and wrapped his hands under Steve’s, supporting the clay figure.

“I guess you forgot what I looked like while you were gone,” Steve said, and Sam leaned in again to kiss Steve. Bucky on the edge of his mind, Steve pulled Sam into his arms and molded his lips to the other mans’. He had missed the human contact of another body against his while Sam was away visiting his military buddies in Hawaii, but now he felt he craved it.

“I guess I can put off unpacking for a little while,” Sam murmured, curling his hands around the back of Steve’s neck and flattening their chests together, but he yanked away when the lights in the living room flashed on and off twice. He wasn’t much for displays of affection, and neither was Steve, and Clint had come into the apartment.

“Nice to see you,” Clint signed, his cheeks a little pink from the embarrassment of walking in on Sam practically wrapped around Steve.

“Glad to be back,” Sam responded, clearing his throat and glancing at Steve, who was on the verge of uproarious laughter.

“Are we going to visit Bucky today, or...” Clint stopped when Steve’s expression sobered up and he nodded.

“I’ll come with you,” Sam decided, taking the clay figure from Steve’s hands and setting it on the coffee table. Steve had an automatic unpleasant feeling in his gut at the thought of Sam coming with him to see Bucky, but he couldn’t tell Sam that he couldn’t come, so he grabbed his keys and walked past Clint out of his apartment. The three of them met up with Nat in the lobby and they took Steve’s car to the hospital.

*******************************************************************************************

“So he lost his memory?” Sam asked as they were on the elevator up to the ICU.

“Yes,” Steve said in a clipped tone.

“All of it?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t have much time to talk yesterday. But he didn’t know who I was.”

Nat, Clint, and Sam stayed out in the lobby while the man at reception took Steve back to Bucky’s hospital room. When they got to the door, Steve saw through the window in the doorframe that Bucky was sitting up in bed, his right arm out of the cast, eating jello off a tray while watching the TV.

“Non-family members can visit for only one hour a day without permission from immediate family members,” the man explained.

“All of his immediate family members are dead. You’re telling me that I can only visit my best friend for one hour a day? He’s going to be in the hospital for weeks!” Steve exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, it’s the rule.”

“That’s a fucked up rule. If you think-”

“Hey, hey, let’s calm down fellas, I think we can work this out without shouting and upsetting the patients, can’t we?” Tony Stark walked up to the both of them and put one hand on each of their shoulders, bringing their attention to Bucky, who had heard the argument through the door and was staring at Steve with an unreadable expression.

“You’re right, of course,” Steve said self consciously, bowing his head in shame. He’d just shouted at hospital staff in front of the man he was supposed to be getting to trust him again.

“Young man, have you ever heard of Stark Industries?” Tony asked the man, putting one arm around the man’s shoulders and steering him away from Steve. 

Steve opened the door to Bucky’s room and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Bucky set the container of jello down and watched as Steve tried to collect his thoughts.

“The doctors say I’m healing at a remarkable rate. My arm is healed and so is my throat,” Bucky said out loud. Steve nodded.

“It’s the serum. It makes us heal faster.”

“Serum? What do you mean?”

“Um, it’s a long story. Your whole life is a long story. I can’t really explain it to you in just one hour. For now, I can tell you that you and I were infused with a serum to turn us into government super-soldiers, except I’m...well, I worked for the American government and you worked for a Neo-Nazi terrorist group.”

Bucky watched Steve talk and shook his head in confusion. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“I know. The doctors say you have amnesia. What’s the earliest thing you can remember?”

“Ever?”

“Yes, your very earliest memory.”

“Um...” Bucky struggled to place how old he was in the memory he had in his brain, where he was playing with two little girls he assumed were his sisters, and eventually, Steve asked, “Can you remember playing with me as a kid?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you at all. What did you say your name was again? Stephen?”

“Steve. We were childhood friends.” Steve was surprised by how level he could keep his voice when inside his heart was pounding and his brain was screaming at him to grab Bucky’s shoulders and shake him until he remembered.

“Do you remember a man named Alexander Pierce?” Steve continued steadily.

“No. Who was he?”

“No one. It’s...not important. What was your earliest memory again?”

“I can’t remember. Can you tell me something though?” Bucky scooted a little closer to Steve so he could talk quieter, and Steve watched with a shattered psyche as Bucky’s eyes filled with tears.

“What’s my name? No one’s told me my name. They keep calling me Mr. Barnes, or sir...” he whispered, several octaves higher than usual from his distress. His questions dropped bricks on Steve’s gut and he choked, “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know...I thought...” He took a deep breath. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You go by Bucky, though.”

“Bucky...” he said, trying it out, but the word didn’t seem to fit on his tongue as he repeated it over and over. He frowned more deeply the more he said it.

“You...you don’t like it?”

“No...I’d rather go by James.” 

Steve jumped at the opportunity to give Bucky even a little bit of happiness, and he said, “Okay, James it is, then. James is your name.”

Steve went back into the lobby a little while later when Bucky said that he was tired and wanted to sleep, and when he walked into the lobby, Sam, Nat, Clint, Tony, and Bruce jumped to their feet.

“I convinced them to give you extra time with Bucky...” Tony told Steve, but he shook his head.

“He was tired. He’s getting some rest. But listen, you guys. He can’t remember anything, not even his own name, so when I told him his name, he said he’d prefer to go by James and not Bucky. Please respect that. Don’t call him Bucky. He’s not Bucky anymore.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has to protect Bucky from an agency he trusted and Bucky receives devastating news about his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in posting another chapter! Hopefully, the next one will be posted in the next few days! Enjoy!

It has started snowing again when Maria Hill finally makes an appearance at the hospital. Natasha and Steve were sitting in the corner of Bucky’s room watching television when her thin frame appeared in the doorway. Steve looked down from the television to smile at her until he saw her pale, drawn face.

Steve went out into the hallway to talk to her and Bucky watched in confusion as Natasha tried to think of something to say to calm his nerves. He’d had a panic attack the night before when Steve had started trying to explain to him about his past as The Winter Soldier, and the nurses had had to shoot him up with sedation strong enough to take down a bull just to get him to relax and stop crying.

Out in the hallway, Maria took Steve’s elbow and led him a few feet away from Bucky’s doorway, turning to face him with a grave expression.

“The CIA has obtained information that Bucky is a patient here. Some agents are on their way here now. I don’t know if they’re going to just ask him some questions or arrest him or what, but I just wanted to prepare you. I already called Tony, Clint, and Sam for your support, and they’re on their way. They should get here before the agents do.”

“Thanks for telling me. We should get Bucky out of here,” Steve said, already starting to turn back towards Bucky’s room, but Maria grabbed his arm.

“I’d recommend just letting them talk to him. If you move Bucky, he’ll be technically on the run, and the CIA will continue to look for him. Just don’t let them take him out of the hospital. Don’t let them talk to him alone.”

“Never.” Steve’s eyes widened. He couldn’t even fathom leaving Bucky alone with a group of bloodthirsty agents who thought the man who laid in that bed was the same one who’d killed hundreds of people. It was inconceivable. Someone needed to be there to protect Bucky.

“I have to go.” Maria tried a smile, squeezed Steve’s hand, and disappeared into the stairwell. Steve spotted Clint and Sam coming down the hall and ran to meet them.

“Maria already briefed us. I’ll be inside,” Clint signed quickly, slipping into Bucky’s room. Looking inside, Steve saw that somehow, Tony had already arrived, and Natasha was pacing nervously in front of Bucky’s bed.

“We thought it would be best to ask Bruce to stay away. In case he got angry...” Sam explained, taking Steve’s hands. Steve sighed in exhaustion, pressed down the urge to say, “That’s not how the Hulk works," and instead said, “Thank you. We better get in there and explain everything to Bucky.”

When they went into his room and shut the door, Clint was already explaining to Bucky that some people from the government were coming in to ask him some questions.

“I know it’s hard to understand, Buck-...er, I mean, James, but you killed a lot of people, and you were kind of...” Natasha paused, not wanting to call him a murderer. She was trying to be gentle but she wanted him to understand the extremity of the situation. 

“But I can’t even remember doing any of that. I can’t remember killing people; for God’s sake, I couldn’t even remember my name three days ago!” Bucky exclaimed, tears gathering in his eyes. Steve had the urge to rush to his side but Sam’s grip on his arm kept him grounded.

“You just need to tell them that. The doctor will talk to them as well, and everything will be fine,” Steve said.

“You can’t promise him that,” Tony piped up.

“Hey,” Sam warned, and Tony waved him off.

“Bucky, the truth is, we can’t really keep you safe-”

“Tony, you’re way out of line-”

“Steve, you’re treating him like a-”

There was a demanding knock on the door and everyone turned to see three agents in black suits standing outside the room, with Bucky’s doctor standing beside them. Natasha strode over and opened the door, smiling warmly and beckoning them inside. They dragged the doctor inside by the arm with more force than was necessary, but she didn’t argue. 

“We’ll need to speak with Sergeant Barnes in private, please.” The agent addressed Steve, who looked the most hostile, practically snarling already. Sam’s grip became the only thing holding him in place.

“Over my dead body,” Steve growled.

“The patient has long-term amnesia, and he doesn’t have any memory from after his childhood. He won’t be helpful,” the doctor tried to explain.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” one of the agents scoffed, but the doctor’s face hardened and she shoved the agent off of her, making him let go of her. Steve saw a bruise forming on her upper arm where they’d grabbed her.

“No, you will not be the judge of that. I am a trained medical professional, and I am telling you that he has no memory. This is my patient, and I won’t let you upset him by interrogating him on things he has no knowledge of,” she snapped.

“We have jurisdiction here, lady, and this patient you’re protecting has killed hundreds of innocents. We’re taking him in.”

“You will address me as DOCTOR, not lady. And unless he’s under arrest, you have no grounds to take him anywhere,” the doctor growled. This was the same doctor who had been nervous to tell Steve that Bucky had lost his memories, but now the Avengers watched this tiny doctor get in this CIA agent’s face with her teeth bared and spit, “So either arrest him, or GET OUT OF MY HOSPITAL.”

The agents stared at her with partially open mouths and blinking eyes, but eventually, they threw glances at Bucky and slowly left the room. After the agents were gone, the doctor relaxed, took a deep, shaky breath, and quietly left without a backwards glance. 

Bucky took a steadying breath and this time Steve couldn’t resist rushing to his side and taking his hands. Sam stared at them for a second and left the room, with Natasha following close behind.

“James, it’s okay that you don’t remember anything. I have a lot of your memories from before you went to war, and I can tell you everything. I can help you fill in the gaps in your memory.”

“You can’t fill in the HYDRA gaps,” Bucky murmured quietly, letting go of Steve’s hands to grip the edge of his bedsheet instead.

“How do you know about-”

“Natasha told me. She told me that they’ve had me as their slave for a long time, and you guys have no idea about what happened to me there. Everyone working for HYDRA is dead now, most of the data on me destroyed, so how do you I know what happened to me? I just feel so...”

“It’s okay to feel lost.”

“I was going to say violated.”

“That too. Bucky...James, what matters now is that HYDRA doesn’t have you anymore. When you’re healed, I’m going to take you home, and we can figure out-”

“Home?” Bucky squeaked, glancing up at Steve with a bewildered expression, and Steve saw Bucky’s knuckles turn white from how tightly he clutched the blanket.

“Yeah, I live over in Brooklyn, where you and I grew up, and-”

“I’m not going home with you,” Bucky interrupted harshly.

“But-”

“I don’t know you. You say you know me, but for all I know, you’re from HYDRA too, or you’re a CIA agent, or you're-"

“You can trust me, Bucky!”

“I can’t trust anyone. I can’t even trust myself. I want one of my sisters to bring me home. They're the only people I remember.”

While Bucky was staring down at the white blanket covering his body, Steve took his hands again, not letting go when Bucky tried to pull away. He needed to be holding Bucky as much as possible when he said this.

“Bucky, you were a prisoner of HYDRA’s for a long time, longer than it seems Natasha expressed to you. Your sisters aren’t alive anymore. They grew up, had their own children, and now they’re gone.”

Bucky became very still and his hands went limp inside Steve’s. He wasn’t pulling away anymore.

“Rebecca...and Jo...”

“I’m so sorry.”

Bucky scrunched up his face tightly and squeezed Steve’s hands, trying to stay present, trying to stay strong, but Steve pulled a hand away to stroke his hair and he lost it, a sob bursting from his throat and then he just wailed, not even protesting when Steve slipped into the bed beside him, above the sheet, and simply held him while he wept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam take Bucky home but it doesn't go as smoothly as planned.

The rest of the Avengers, except Sam, went home to their own apartments/privately owned buildings to give Steve and Bucky some space. Sam stayed in the lobby to bring Steve home when he needed it. After Bucky learned that his sisters were dead, he had stayed quiet and refused the food the nursing aid brought for him. After forty-eight hours of this, Dr. Nguyen suggested that Steve take him home. She requested to speak to Steve in the hallway while Bucky flipped furiously through TV channels, not landing on any.

“Mr. Rogers, if he’s having such a hard time here, I’d like to suggest that you take him back to your house. He’s not getting better here, and I think that if he’s in a familiar place with people he used to know, he might recover his memory more quickly,” the doctor explained.

“Are you sure? I mean, he tried to kill himself less than a week ago-”

“But at that time, he had the memories of a tortured, manipulated soldier. Right now, he’s just a confused man with no memories who needs some stability. Take him home, and bring him back when his memories return. I’m going to give you a referral to a psychologist I need you to bring him to twice a week. That should also help with getting his memories back.”

Steve and Sam had to wait in the lobby while Dr. Nguyen and her nursing aids got Bucky ready to go. Even though Steve had wanted to help, Bucky insisted that he wait in the lobby.

When Bucky walked into the lobby beside Dr. Nguyen wearing the plain white sweatshirt and the blue jeans Steve had given him, Steve couldn’t help the small clench in his chest at seeing his best friend looking so healthy and normal. After seeing Bucky cry and fight and scream over the past few days, it was a welcome relief for Steve to see his best friend looking so well.

“He’s all ready to go,” Dr. Nguyen said with a sappy smile on her face, and she handed Bucky a ziplock bag of his belongings, the things he’d had on him when he’d jumped off the building. It contained an expensive wristwatch and a pack of gum.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me, Doctor. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” Bucky said, leaning over to hug the doctor quickly, much to her surprise.

“Probably in jail,” Sam muttered, and though it hurt Steve to even think about Bucky being there, he elbowed his boyfriend in good nature.

“Stop it,” he said dryly. Bucky pulled away from the doctor and went to stand in front of Steve.

“So, uh, Steve, ready to take me home?” he asked, his eyebrows ridging like he half-expected Steve to say no.

“Of course.”

Bucky turned to Sam and said, “Uh, I’m not sure I remember your name.”

“It’s Sam,” Steve answered quickly, before Sam could. In case Sam thought about including the fact that he was-

“I’m Steve’s boyfriend,” Sam said anyway, reaching out to shake Bucky’s hand. Steve was almost disappointed to see that Bucky didn’t look jealous or upset to learn the news of Steve being taken. Bucky and Sam shook hands and then Steve led them out to the waiting taxi cab with an empty, twisting feeling in his gut.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even though Bucky looked completely healed, by the time the three of them arrived back at the apartment, Bucky got out of the taxi with a limp, biting his bottom lip. Steve brought him upstairs quickly and pulled out a chair for him to sit down in.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, wheezing slightly and setting his baggie down on the table. Sam stood by the door watching as Steve set his own bag down and started unpacking things onto the dining room table.

“Uh, Sammy, planning on coming in?” Steve asked. 

“Mhm.”

Sam sat down at the table with Bucky and tried not to look too abrasive and jealous, even though it was eating him up inside the way Steve looked at Bucky, with constant worry and care, not remotely close to the way he looked at Sam. 

“So we have a guest bedroom right beside ours that you can sleep in, and if you need anything during the night, you know, pain medication, a glass of water...” Steve tried to think of other things Bucky would need but Sam cut in, “A bedtime story, a mug of warm milk...”

Steve glared at Sam while Bucky seemed only mildly taken aback, fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed sweatshirt. 

“What? You’re acting like he’s a baby. You don’t need to be treated like a baby, do you, Bucky?”

“Um...” He thought it best he didn’t answer, given the way Steve’s face was turning pink as he glared at his boyfriend.

“What if his memories come back in the middle of the night, huh, Sam? What then?” Steve demanded. He didn’t want to upset or embarrass Bucky, but he was starting to feel like Sam was purposefully being an ass, and he couldn’t see why. Usually, Sam was one of the most caring, respectful people he knew. He’d never seen this side of Sam.

“I need to use the bathroom. Can you point me...” Bucky trailed off as both of the men turned their faces to him.

“There’s a bathroom attached to your bedroom. It’s right through there.” Steve pointed to the doorway beside his bedroom where Bucky would be staying. Once Bucky was out of earshot, Steve slammed his fist down on the table and hissed, “What is your problem today?”

“Why are you treating him like that?!” Sam responded.

“Like what?”

“Like a breakable little glass doll!”

“He tried to KILL HIMSELF last week, Sam. He’s fragile, and he needs taking care of. That’s why we agreed to bring him home with us. And if you’re going to have a problem with that, then you shouldn’t stay here when he’s here,” Steve said.

“This is MY APARTMENT. If anyone’s leaving, it will be him. I’m not going to be driven out of my own home by some-”

“WATCH-” Steve shot to his feet and got in Sam’s face, unable control the growling tone his voice had taken on, “-WHAT YOU SAY.”

“I’m going for a walk.” Sam shoved away from the table and stomped out the front door, slamming it behind him with the force of an Avenger. Bucky came out of the bathroom and saw Steve standing by the table, gripping it so hard that he was warping the wood, his face the color of a strawberry.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked reluctantly. Steve looked at him and the stress melted away; he released the angry breath he’d been holding and sank into a chair.

“Everything’s fine. Sam forgot something at the hospital, and he’s going back to get it,” Steve explained, scratching his fingers through his hair and hanging his head in exhaustion.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know. You should really work on that. A man your age needs to be able to lie like a pro,” Bucky joked, sitting down across from Steve. Steve let out a strained laugh.

“I’ve never been good at lying.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Steve lifted his head and saw Bucky smiling at him, his head tilted slightly to the side like he used to do when he was feeling brazen, confident, and sometimes horny. Steve couldn’t help the heat that rose to his cheeks, but this time, it wasn’t from anger. Bucky’s smile faltered when Steve started to smile back and he stuttered, “Uh, um, okay, well, I better get to bed now. Goodnight.” He disappeared into the guest bedroom without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky learns more about his old life.

Steve decided to stay up and do some reading at the table until Sam got back from his walk, and it was pushing on three in the morning by the time the door opened and Sam came in, covered in flecks of fallen snow. 

Before Steve could say anything snarky to him, though, Sam was surging forward and leaning down to kiss him with whole-hearted, earnest passion. Steve hesitated, surprised by Sam’s change of heart.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, pulling back and then sitting down on Steve’s knee so he could wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and hold him close. He rested his cheek against Steve’s, his freezing cold one against Steve’s warm one.

“I guess I’m the jealous type. You obviously love Bucky very much-”

“We’ve been friends for almost our entire lives, Sam,” Steve interrupted, “Of course I love him, but never as much as I love you.”

Sam smiled at his words, his relief showing in his tired eyes. Grasping Steve as tightly as he could, he felt the safest he’d ever been.

“Bed?” Steve asked, lifting Sam up in his arms like a bride and carrying him towards their bedroom.

“Are you tired, or...” Sam let the offer hang in the air as Steve crossed the threshold of their bedroom and set him down on the edge of their bed. Steve was struck by the desire to tell Sam that he was too tired for sex that night, but after their argument, Steve thought that it would look suspicious if he refused it. It would look too much like thoughts of Bucky were preoccupying his mind. Even if they were.

“I’m never too tired for you,” Steve murmured, trying to get his smile to hit his eyes as he leaned in and captured Sam’s mouth wholly with his own. He pushed Sam back on the bed and crawled over his body like a slinking panther.

Bucky, however, was not asleep yet in the other room. With so much to think about, how he’d caused an argument between Steve and Sam, how he’d lost all his memories practically overnight, how his sisters were dead, it was too difficult to sleep...Bucky’s heart clenched at the thoughts of his sisters and he pressed the pillow into his mouth so that his hosts wouldn’t hear his sob.

As he pulled the pillow away to take a deep breath, he thought he heard a small noise from the room beside him where Steve and Sam were sleeping. Bucky slowed his breath and listened hard...had it been a laugh? What were the two of them still doing awake? Were they still arguing?

Another noise made Bucky lift his head off the pillow so his left ear wasn’t blocked and then it became apparent that the noise had been one of the men in the other room moaning.

Fuck, he thought. I’ll never be able to sleep with the two of them going at it in there...the thought of it made him sick. Practically sick to his stomach. He considered clearing his throat loudly to let them know that he could hear them or...

Another moan came, louder than the first two, and it was very clearly Steve; for some reason, Bucky recognized that it was and he felt a creeping sense of deja vu. “It’s not possible that I’ve heard Steve make that noise before,” Bucky told himself.

Muffled voices, two of them, made a noise together in the other room and then there was a thump against the wall that connected to Bucky’s bedroom. It surprised him so much that he couldn’t stop the small yelp that broke from his lips. He prayed to God or Buddha or whoever that Steve and Sam hadn’t heard him. All he needed right then was for the two of them to come into his room to check on him, half clothed and hair tousled.

But they hadn’t heard him, and Bucky lifted his pillow to place over his head so he could try and get some sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky opened his eyes and realized that he’d fallen asleep. For how long, he didn’t know. The moon’s light was still filtering in the window from between the half-closed blinds, and when Bucky turned over, he saw that the alarm on the bedside table said 4:42am. His throat and mouth felt like they were full of cotton, and he climbed out of bed to get himself a glass of water. 

He tried to keep completely silent as he crossed the room and went into the kitchen to find the glasses. Checking a few cabinets, he accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be able to find the glasses and settled for cupping his hands under the sink faucet and drinking the water that pooled there.

“Bucky?” a hesitant, gentle voice said from behind him. Surprise gripping his heart, he straightened too quickly and banged his head against the cabinet above the sink.

“Fuck!”

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s hands were on him, and in his daze, he felt himself being led to sit down at the table. His head felt wet and he couldn’t tell if it was real or if he was just imagining it. He hadn’t turned the kitchen light on, and now in the dark, he only saw the outline of Steve as he knelt in front of him.

Steve’s hands grazed his head and hair as Bucky struggled to stay conscious. The hit had made him dizzy but now, he felt a new kind of pain coming on. He was sure he was bleeding. He was sure he was bleeding out. Breathing was becoming harder for him and he found himself gasping for air as he gripped Steve’s shoulders for support.

“Bucky, Bucky, I’m here. It’s alright. You’re fine, you’re not injured,” Steve whispered, moving closer to envelope Bucky in the circle of his arms.

Bucky pulled in air as if his life depended on it while Steve held him and murmured encouraging and calming words. Bucky could smell Steve’s certain scent of shampoo and for some reason, it comforted him. It smelled like home.

“Please call me James, and please let go of me,” he whispered when he could finally breathe again. Steve nodded in the dark, letting go of him and getting to his feet.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“Do you feel better?”

The truth was, now that Bucky’s attack had subsided, again he had the creeping sense of deja vu. Steve’s arms around him had felt too familiar. He suddenly wondered if he and Steve had been together before his memory had been lost, but he was too nervous to ask. He wasn’t sure that he’d like the answer either way.

“I feel better,” Bucky said. Steve’s eyes were the brightest thing to him in the darkness of the kitchen, and Bucky thought he saw an internal debate going on behind them. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Steve decided, turning around to walk back into his room. Bucky watched him go. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky managed to dream after he fell asleep again. Of course, he didn’t realize that he was dreaming until after he woke up.

He dreamt that he stood in the doorway of Steve’s bedroom, facing towards the kitchen. Steve was in the kitchen at the stove with his back to Bucky, cooking something that smelled irresistible as he listened to music on an old radio and moved his hips to the somber beat. He didn’t notice Bucky right away, but when he did, the most loving, adoring smile broke out on his face. Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.

“Bucky,” Steve crooned, but his voice was all wrong. It belonged to someone different, someone older, someone wrong...Bucky wasn’t sure where he’d heard the voice before but it surely wasn’t Steve’s voice.

Dream Steve set down the spatula and pulled something shiny out of his pocket that Bucky couldn’t see, rolling it around in his hands.

“I got you a present,” the voice inside Steve continued, “and I want you to wear it always so I know where you are. It’s for your own good.”

Steve arrived in front of Bucky and held the shiny object out to him. It was a watch, an expensive watch, Bucky noticed, and he had no choice but to take it.

“Be a good little Asset and put it on now, dear,” Steve said in his strange voice, and Bucky looked up to meet his eyes.

“Asset?”

There was a noise and Bucky shot up in bed, looking frantically around his bedroom for Steve with his strange voice and his big smile. Only then did he realize that he’d been dreaming.

The knock on his bedroom door came again and he scrambled to free himself from the sheets to go open it. Steve was standing outside the bedroom door, and Bucky silently braced himself for the strange voice and the smile and the shiny watch.

“Would you like eggs for breakfast?” Steve asked in his regular, gentle voice, his eyes seeking some kind of answer from Bucky. Bucky waited a few moments to be sure that Steve wasn’t going to offer him a watch before asking, “Why did he call me the Asset?”

He had expected a simple answer from Steve. He hadn’t expected Steve to go completely white and grab onto the doorway to support himself. He seemed almost angry as he stared at Bucky.

“Where did you hear that?” Steve demanded.

“In my dream, uh, someone called me Asset. A...a good little Asset.”

Steve was swallowing hard and looking back over his shoulder, presumably for help from Sam, but Bucky carefully reached out and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he told him. Steve’s eyes grew concerned and he regained some color in his cheeks as he murmured, “No, no, James, you didn’t upset me. You could never upset me. It’s just that...when you were a prisoner for Hydra, they called you the Asset...the director, Alexander Pierce...he...”

“He gave me a watch,” Bucky remembered, retrieving the one on his bedside table that the doctors told him he'd been wearing when he’d jumped off the building.

“Let’s have breakfast. I’ll explain everything to you,” Steve said from the doorway.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky dug into his plate of scrambled eggs in an attempt to show Steve that he was okay and could handle hearing the information about to be given to him. Whatever could make Steve turn scared and white like that must be horrible, Bucky thought. Sam had gone to work hours ago, so Steve and Bucky sat alone together in the kitchen.

“So, explain to me why the man in my dream called me the Asset. Why would he call me that?” Bucky asked.

“The man in your dream must have been Alexander Pierce. In the files we recovered after taking down HYDRA, he called you that in all the paperwork. It was Pierce who apparently called you that...often actually...it seems that you lived with him for a while...”

“Lived with him?” Bucky asked in alarm, setting down his fork. “Why?”

“He, uh...” Steve cleared his throat. “He liked you. He, um, he a-abused you while you were in his service.” Steve found it difficult to get the words out without stuttering. This was his best friend he was talking about someone raping.

“Abused me...” Bucky repeated the words, almost in wonderment. 

“Yes.”

“So, this Pierce man and I used to have sex?”

“No! No, Bucky, er, uh, James. He raped you. You weren’t in your right mind then, he was brainwashing you-”

“I understand, Steve. And I can tell that this is making you very upset, but...” Bucky struggled to find the right words. “I don’t remember any of it. When you describe these things that happened to me, it’s as if you’re describing events that happened to someone else. Someone I don’t know.”

“I guess, I guess that’s good. That it’s not making you upset, I mean,” he answered slowly.

"So did I like men, then? Before I was with Pierce?" he asked hesitantly. Steve averted his eyes and went back to his eggs, but James noticed his Adam's Apple bobbing nervously.

"I don't know. You were always flirty with the ladies, but I don't know if you liked men too. You didn't tell me if you did or not."

"I thought you said we were best friends."

"We are. I mean..." Steve swallowed. "We were, but you never came out to me, if that's what you mean. I always assumed you were straight."

“I have another question,” Bucky told him. He knew he needed to ask it, and if he got the answer he feared, he wouldn’t be able to stay with Steve anymore. It wouldn’t be right.

“Okay...”

“Did you and I ever do anything, before all this happened? Before I was turned into the Asset?”

Steve furrowed his brows and gripped his hands tightly in his lap, clearly distressed. Bucky waited patiently for an answer. "Do anything?" "Romantically. When you touch me, it feels...familiar." Steve made a mental note to not touch Bucky, not even a hand on the shoulder, from then on. He didn't want to confuse Bucky, or make him feel uncomfortable. 

“No, not...uh, not really." "Not really? That doesn't sound like a no." "When we were kids, we used to...well...” Steve’s cheeks were coloring again and Bucky wanted to somehow make him more comfortable so he could speak freely without being embarrassed. 

“We went on trips with your family sometimes,” Steve explained, “and we would share a room. Share a bed too. There were times when we’d touch each other...but rarely and it stopped after a few years when we got older.”

“Touch each other?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Steve looked up from the floor to meet Bucky’s gaze and swallowed harshly. He didn’t like the way his cheeks were heating up at the memory of him and Bucky wriggling under the blankets together at Bucky’s parents’ beach house, his hands down the front of Bucky’s pants and vice versa, trying to get his friend off without making any noise. Their worst fear was that Bucky’s parents would hear the noise and catch them in the act.

“The usual way people touch each other, Buck,” Steve said, laughing nervously to relieve some of the tension in the room. 

“Touching each other’s cocks?”

“Jesus, Bucky!”

“So that’s a yes.”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore!”

Steve pushed away angrily from the table and stomped into his own bedroom, slamming the door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James starts to regain some of his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a small realization. My character (previously Bucky) in the story was requesting to be called James by his peers, yet me, as the author, still called him Bucky when writing about him. It felt wrong, kind of when people refuse to call transgender people by their chosen name. So I will be calling the character previously known as Bucky "James" from now on. I hope it doesn't confuse anyone.

James thought he had been doing well. Except for his loss of memories, his physical wounds were healing quickly, as quickly as Steve had promised him they would. He had started to accept the fact that he’d never get his memories back, and he’d started making a new life. Steve had given him some money to buy a lamp for his room. It felt like his. The apartment felt like his.

He’d been home for almost two weeks when the memory came. Steve had suggested that James practice running up and down the stairs in his building to keep up his strength and keep him busy. James hadn’t been able to leave the apartment yet. He was too afraid of people recognizing him as the one who’d killed hundreds of innocent civilians. He knew that the government wanted him in their clutches and being outside just didn’t feel safe.

The memory had come so suddenly, he was grateful that Sam had been behind him on the stairs, because if he hadn’t been, James would have fallen down them and possibly hurt himself. He was just reaching the top landing on Steve’s floor when he suddenly wasn’t in the staircase anymore; he was in a room, a dark room, with melting walls and sounds of people crying. There were strong hands on his back (which he found out later was just Sam catching him on the stairs so he wouldn’t fracture his skull). He was kneeling on the floor, and there were more hands, people grabbing him from the front and trying to drag him forward...“Please, no!” I hadn’t been conditioned yet, I hadn’t been trained, he thought. He still fought. He still struggled. Someone jabbed something sharp up into his chest, between his ribcages, he thought, and then he was falling, falling quickly, right through the floor it seemed, forever falling.

“JAMES!” The voice was Sam’s, and his eyes opened to see the man’s face closer than he expected, his eyes wide and worried. He was held in Sam’s arms like a child as he leaned on the railing to support James’ weight.

“What happened?” James whispered, scrambling out of Sam’s arms and squatting down on the landing above him, trying to regain his stolen breath. He gripped his knees against his chest and couldn’t help the terrified gasp that tore from his throat when Sam took a step closer. Sam put up his hands, palms out, and said, “Sorry. I won’t come any closer. You passed out and then you were screaming and trying to shove me away...I thought you were having a seizure.”

“I think it was one of my old memories from when I was...from when they made me into the Winter Soldier,” James realized.

“What do you need from me? How can I help?”

“I need...Steve. I need Steve.” James shot to his feet and sprinted up the remaining flights of stairs as Sam ran after him, arms pumping, struggling to keep up. James burst through Steve’s apartment door and straight into his arms.

“Hey, hey, what’s up?” Steve asked as James squeezed the breath right out of him, sobbing openly. Sam came into the apartment after him and Steve raised an eyebrow in concern.

“He had a flashback on the staircase,” Sam explained.

“Bucky, are you okay? What did you remember?” Steve asked, hugging him back as tightly as he was being hugged.

“It’s James,” Sam reminded him gently. Before Steve could correct himself, James said, “I was underground, and there were people grabbing me...I think someone s-s-stabbed me...”

“You’re okay now, don’t worry. You’re safe. No one can hurt you now,” Steve murmured. Sam came closer and reached out a hand to stroke James’ hand.

Steve and he made eye contact. Sam’s eyes seemed to say: What are we going to do with him?

Protect him, Steve’s eyes answered. That’s all we can do.

“Am I interrupting a group hug?” a bored voice dripping with sarcasm asked from the door, and Steve was surprised when James let go of him to run and grab Tony, hugging him with just as much enthusiasm as he’d hugged Steve.

“What...Hey, buddy, it's okay.” Tony’s facade had dropped as he automatically hugged James back and looked at Steve questioningly. 

“You look so familiar,” James said suddenly, pulling away to look at Tony straight in the face. Tony couldn’t speak for a few seconds.

“You knew my father. He looked a lot like me,” he responded quietly, pulling his eyes away. He couldn’t tell James that he’d actually killed his father.

“Oh.”

James moved away and turned to Steve.

“I need, um...can I sleep now?” 

“You don’t have to ask permission, remember?” Steve asked. James nodded and disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James starts seeing a therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome!

Steve brought James a cup of tea with a splash of milk, just the way he liked it when he was a teenager, and set it on the coffee table. James was asleep on the couch, a holey, maroon crochet blanket covering his body. Sam’s mother had sent them the blanket as a Christmas present the year before, and now it lay on the back of the couch for anyone who wanted to fall asleep watching TV. Which had been James the night night.

As he knelt beside the table to get a better look at James’ beautiful, calm face, he noticed that James clutched the watch Alexander Pierce had given him to his chest, the way a child held their favorite toy while they slept. It was a mystery to Steve why James would want a memento from his Winter Soldier days, but he'd never brought it up. He didn’t want to upset James.

Silently, James twitched in his sleep, surprising Steve and making him flinch away. He hadn’t been trying to wake James, and wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he did. James already had enough trouble getting to sleep and staying that way, and Steve didn’t want to make it harder for him. He moved the tea over on the table so it wasn’t close enough to James that he’d knock it over if he stretched out in his sleep, and then went into the kitchen to start breakfast. Sam was at the table, reading the paper and drinking his own tea: iced black tea with a spoonful of brown sugar.

“Anything good?” Steve asked Sam, indicating the paper, stepping over to the stove to pull a pan out from the cabinet. He set it on top of a burner and plopped a small square of butter in the center. Turning the burner on medium, he opened the fridge to search for the carton of eggs.

“Rockefeller is considering putting the tree out a few days early this year to give the workers more time to decorate it. Apparently, this year, it’s going to be the grandest spectacle we’ve ever seen,” Sam responded, studiously turning the page.

“They said that about the tree last year. It’s always the grandest spectacle,” Steve laughed, pouring the whisked bowl of eggs into the steaming pan.

A knock on the wall alerted the two of them to Natasha’s entrance and she went over to kiss Steve’s cheek before settling down at the table opposite of Sam.

“So, how’s the newest member of your happy family? Has he remembered anything yet?” she asked, taking a sip of Sam’s tea and making a face at the strange taste.

“Just a few random memories. Mostly from his late childhood but one pretty scary one of him being stabbed,” Sam explained, “We think it’s from right after HYDRA took him, because he said he felt like he didn’t have to obey yet. He hadn’t been conditioned yet, he said.”

“That’s rough,” Tasha said mildly, “Has he visited that psychologist Dr. Nguyen recommended?”

“His first appointment is this afternoon.”

Light footsteps made Natasha look behind her and she smiled as James padded into the room, barefoot, with hair sticking out in every direction. He held the cup of milky tea in his hands and poured it into the sink, bleary-eyed.

“Uh, James, how’re you doing?” Sam asked carefully, looking at Steve, who was watching the tea he’d made for James swirl down the drain in astonishment. Natasha stared down at the table and didn’t say a thing.

“I didn't like the tea,” James mumbled, sitting down in the chair beside Tasha. 

“You used to love-" 

Sam cut Steve off before he could put his foot in his mouth. “What would you like, then? Coffee? Hot chocolate?”

“Orange juice?” Natasha piped up.

James thought about it for a few moments, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and then said, “I’m going to take a shower.” He was gone from the room before any of them could say anything.

“He’s acting strange,” Steve said obviously, pulling three plates out of the cabinet and dividing up the eggs onto them. He slid one plate to Natasha, put one in front of Sam, and sat down with the other one.

“Maybe he remembered something else,” Tasha suggested, digging into her eggs with one of Sam’s antique silver forks. The sound of running water pierced through the wall and silenced them. The bathroom was only one thin wall away and they didn’t want James to hear them talking about him behind his back.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Jennifer Daley’s office was just on the edge of Brooklyn, tucked between two apartment buildings, almost as if it was trying to hide in plain sight. While the apartment buildings matched the style of the elderly folk who lived inside, Dr. Daley’s office was formidable and strong, the bricks having been painted black and the trim of the windows and door an elegant white. There were two stories and no windows on the first level. The windows on the upper level were both open, the sheer curtains that matched the white windowpane rustling in the light afternoon breeze. 

James stood on the sidewalk in front of the building, Steve standing a few steps behind him. This was one of the first times he’d been outside since the hospital, and now he felt like he never wanted to go back inside. No one had tried to kill or arrest him on the drive to the office. He was hopeful.

“James? Do you want to go inside?” Steve asked gently. 

“Am I late for my appointment?”

“No, you still have ten minutes.”

James took a deep breath and put his foot on the first porch step. The door felt like a mile away, and he wasn’t sure if he could make the journey.

It turned out that he didn’t have to. The front door to the office swung open and a young woman stepped out onto the porch, leaving the door open behind her. She was taller than most women, James noticed, and wore a black pant suit that showed off her curves without being inappropriate or slutty. The white blouse she wore underneath the black suit jacket was buttoned up to her neck. Her caramel hair hung stiffly to her shoulders and curled naturally at the ends, no split ends to be seen.

“Are you James Barnes?” she asked, her stern face unsmiling and serious.

“I am, ma'am,” he responded, taking his foot off the step so he was back on the sidewalk. Seeming to know that James wasn’t going to come up onto the porch, she made her way down the steps carefully, looking at her feet so she didn’t fall in her impossibly high heels. When she stood in front of him, she was taller than he was. Close up, she was quite beautiful and emitted warmth; James couldn't help but think she'd make a good mother. 

“I’m Dr. Daley. Are you comfortable with shaking hands?” she asked. Her question made James automatically drawn to her. She seemed strong-willed and independent, the kind of person James liked. No one had ever asked him if he felt comfortable touching them before.

“No,” he replied without malice, and Dr. Daley nodded.

“Would you like to come inside?”

“I need a minute.” He looked behind him and Steve gave him an encouraging smile, gesturing for him to go inside.

“It’s okay. She won’t bite,” he told James. Dr. Daley waited patiently while James took heavy steps up the porch and finally made it to the landing. She followed him up and brought him inside without another glance at Steve. 

Inside the building was a warm lounge with chairs and tables and stacks of magazines for the family of patients to read. The walls were a vicious plum color, the color of a bad bruise, and there was a group of kids sitting and reading around a short, child-sized table. They all looked up at him when he came into the room. He wondered if he scared them, just a scruffy, pale-skinned man with a clenched jaw and wild eyes. He didn’t think they noticed his metal hand peeking out from his right sleeve.

“Would you like to take the stairs to my office or the elevator?” Dr. Daley asked him. He looked away from the children to meet her piercing gaze. Now that he was inside, the stairs didn’t seem quite so scary. However, the thought of being in a tiny, enclosed space with a stranger gave him an acute feeling of uneasiness. They took the stairs up and Dr. Daley ushered him into her office. 

The walls were painted beige, off-setting the olive-colored couch and carpet. There was a stocky wooden desk pushed against the back wall by the right window, and a lush armchair, presumably for the doctor, across from the couch. A black bookcase sat against the wall between the two windows, and it was full of medical journals, except for the bottom shelf, which was full of children’s novels. 

“Please, take a seat wherever you’d like,” Dr. Daley said as she made her way to the desk and collected a pad of paper and a pen. James chose the couch, sitting on the crack between the two cushions. He pulled a pillow onto his lap and hugged it to his chest while Dr. Daley settled into the armchair. She laid the pad of paper on her lap and tucked the pen behind her ear.

“James, as I said before, I’m Dr. Jennifer Daley. I’m a psychologist specializing in psychotherapy for patients with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Anxiety, Amnesia, Panic Disorders, Personality Disorders, Bipolar Disorder, and Depression. I also treat patients who are considering suicide or who have already tried to take their own life. Now, Dr. Nguyen referred you to me and has filled me in a little with your background, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Hear what from me?” James asked after an uncomfortable pause. Dr. Daley shifted in her chair and smiled, not showing her teeth.

“Your story. Tell me about yourself." 

“I don’t know anything about myself,” James said, “I can’t remember anything from my old life.”

“I’m not asking you to tell me about your old life,” she replied patiently, “I want to hear about your new life. Who are you now? Not who were you before. That’s not who you are now, so it’s not relevant at the moment. Who are YOU?”

“I’m Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. I’m biologically twenty-eight years old, and I live with Steve Rogers, who says he was my childhood friend. He tells me that we grew up together. Also, his boyfriend Sam lives there too. I, uh, I had two sisters, but they're long dead. I used to be a prisoner from this...this group, called HYDRA.”

“HYDRA?” 

“Surely you must have heard about it in the news,” James said, not falling for her all-innocent look of surprise.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let’s pretend I didn’t. Tell me about it.” 

James started, “It was some type of Nazi organization in Russia or Germany or something. Steve and I were part of this group called the Howling Commandos, and we were trying to take down HYDRA, but, but, but I was, I was taken hostage during one of our battles, they said. I lost my, my arm and they replaced it with this.” James pushed up his shirt sleeve and showed the doctor his metal arm. She looked genuinely surprised and jotted something down in her notebook.

“Natasha, she's Steve's friend, told me they, uh, brainwashed me, and tortured me until I'd followed their commands,” James continued, “They gave me a serum, the same kind of serum that the American government gave Steve to make him strong and super-human. They used a machine to wipe away all my memories from before so I wouldn’t remember that I was ever not their soldier. They sent me on missions to kill people and I blindly obeyed. Steve says that I had no consciousness, no ability to think for myself. And, and, and, uh, b-between missions, they froze me in some kind of giant icebox that kept me sedated but alive for years at a time.”

“And you remember none of this?”

“None,” James said with finality.

“Anything else?”

James wanted to tell her about Alexander Pierce, about what he did to James, about how he treated him. But he couldn’t quite find the words. 

“James? What are you thinking about right now?” she whispered, cocking her head to the side. She seemed worried, James noticed. How long had he been sitting there in silence?

“There’s something else,” he said, and quickly cut himself off. No. He couldn’t tell her. She’d laugh and tell him that he was weak, pathetic. A slut, a whore, something no one could ever love. She'd call him a faggot, a fairy, and she'd make him leave her warm office. 

“You can tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Okay. It's okay, James. This is only our first meeting together. You don’t have to tell me everything right now. Let’s change topics. How do you like living with Steve? Do you feel comfortable with him and his boyfriend?”

“It’s nice there. Steve says that it’s like the apartment we grew up in. Or it’s the same apartment. I can’t remember.”

“Do you get along with Steve and...what’s his partner’s name?”

“Sam. They’re both very nice. Sam was in the military, so he understands a lot of what I’m going through, he says.”

“That’s definitely a plus. How does it feel to live with someone you knew before you lost your memory? Do you think it puts pressure on you to remember the memories you lost?”

“Steve is...he treats me like I’m the person he used to know. I think he feels like he’s lost the old me completely. And in some ways that's true but, it's also not true. I am a different person, but I'm still...I don't know.”

James realized that he must be blushing or something, because Dr. Daley raised her eyebrows and wrote something down on the paper again.

“And Steve, he's...just a friend? Nothing more?”

“Yes,” James snapped, dragging his eyes away from the doctor’s face to look down at the pristine carpet. 

“Okay.”

James and Dr. Daley chatted for a few more minutes about random aspects of James’s life before Steve arrived to pick him up, honking twice so that James would know that he’d arrived.

“Here’s my business card, James. Feel free to call me at any time if something comes up or if you need to talk. I will see you for our next session on Tuesday,” she said, handing him a small, white business card with her office, home, and cell phone number, in addition to her email address and office street address. He tucked the card into his pocket and went out to the sidewalk where Steve was waiting.

“How’d it go?” he asked curiously as James got into the passenger seat and pulled his jacket tighter around his torso.

“I like her. I want to keep her,” James said matter-of-factly, making Steve chuckle as he put the car in Drive and pulled out into the street.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

During the session, Dr. Daley had told James that talking about their experiences and feelings often helped people regain lost memories more quickly. Still, James was unpleasantly surprised when he yanked himself out of a terrible flashback at one o’clock in the morning, his shirt stuck to his chest with sweat and his cheeks wet with tears. He must have been making noises, screaming or something, because as he reached over to turn on the lamp beside his bed, Steve exploded through the doorway, panting in his shorts and T-shirt.

“Are you okay?” he gasped, dropping down beside James on the bed, gripping James’ shoulders.

“I remembered something,” he told Steve, whose pleading eyes didn’t leave James’ face even for a second.

“You were screaming,” Steve answered quietly.

“I know. In the memory, I was screaming too. I need to call Dr. Daley.”

“Tell me what happened, James. Tell me what I can do,” he begged, but James pulled away from Steve’s embrace and snatched the business card off his bedside table.

“You can’t do anything. It’s already happened. It’s a memory, remember?”

He went into the kitchen and used the landline to call Dr. Daley’s home phone number. After a couple rings, a male voice picked up.

“Hello?” the tired voice whispered, and James heard what sounded like paper rustling in the background. He looked over his shoulder but Steve hadn’t come into the room.

“Is Dr. Daley there?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Sure, hold on a second.” The man’s voice pulled away from the phone and James heard him call, “Hey, Jen, someone’s on the phone for you. Sounds like it may be one of your clients.”

After more rustling paper sounds, another, more familiar voice filled the phone.

“With whom am I speaking?” She sounded irritated, and James was about to hang up when he heard a baby’s wails fill the background on her end. He realized she must have been awake anyway with her baby when he’d called, which was why her husband had called out to her instead of whispering to wake her up. The baby’s wails became quieter as someone, presumably her husband, carried the baby out of the same room as her.

“Hello?” came her voice again.

“Dr. Daley, it’s me, James Barnes.”

“Hello, James,” she said, her voice becoming softer. “Are you alright?” James thought she sounded exhausted and weary.

“I had a flashback.”

“You did?”

“I was...” James looked over his shoulder one more time to make sure that Steve hadn’t come into the room, and when he saw he was alone, he continued, “I was in Alexander Pierce’s house.”

“The director of HYDRA?” she checked.

“Yes, him. We used to live together when I wasn’t frozen in the cryotank. He kept me as his slave. His...pet.” James forced the words out, like trying to grit his teeth against an immeasurable pain. He could already hear the answer she’d give: “Oh, how disgusting, you slut, to let him use you that way, you’ll never be good enough for anyone ever again, you’re all used up.”

But instead she just said, “What happened in your flashback?” He didn’t hear any judgement or emotion in her voice, not the slightest bit of disgust or anger. This was a good sign, he thought cautiously.

“I was in the bathtub. There were rubber ducks in the bath with me. 

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Was this a bad memory? Or a good one?” 

“Bad,” James said, his voice cracking of its own free will. 

“What happened?” 

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered miserably. He was slowly losing control of the situation, and he wished that he’d never called her in the first place. He’d disturbed her time with her child, he’d probably annoyed her husband for calling so late at night, and now he couldn’t even go through with telling her what he remembered.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do, James. I’m going to come over with some drawing supplies, and we’re going to draw for a little bit. Does that sound okay?”

He breathed a sigh of great relief. Even though it sounded childish, James knew that he could trust her to get him to talk, even if he couldn’t do it on his own.

After he gave her Steve’s address, he put the phone back on the receiver and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table to wait for her arrival.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fascinating discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat?! Two chapters in one day?! Yes, I'm posting another chapter. I'm on a roll! As usual, feel free to leave comments below!

“He’s got the doctor coming over,” Steve whispered, his ear pressed to the bedroom door, listening to James’ conversation in the kitchen on the phone. With the serum, he could hear James’ side of the conversation perfectly well, as if he was standing right beside him.

“It’s one thirty. Surely, the doctor isn’t going to come over right now,” Sam told him, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. He had work in less than four hours, and he couldn’t afford to continue waking up in the middle of the night whenever Steve heard James crying in his sleep or wanted to go in and check on him.

“He just gave her our address,” Steve responded, pulling his ear away from the door and turning back to find Sam pulling a on T-shirt.

“Jeez, I hope we’re paying her well if he’s making her come over at all hours of the night,” he scoffed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and getting up to make a pot of coffee.

“He’s not making her come over, Sam.” Steve grabbed his partner’s arm before he could leave their bedroom. “You know how difficult it is for him. You were him once, and I supported you. Now, we have to support him. He’s totally and completely vulnerable, and he can’t remember anything. He doesn’t know who he is. If he needs Dr. Daley at one o’clock in the morning, then he gets her. End of story. Period.” 

Sam pulled his arm away with a grumpy expression and went into the kitchen, Steve following close behind.

“I don’t want you guys here when I’m talking to Dr. Daley,” James snapped at them, lifting his head up from the table where it had been resting. Even though his teeth were bared angrily, Steve saw his eyes shining with unshed tears. He had puffy bags under his eyes and Steve had never seen him look so tired.

“We’re not going to be here. We just came out to get something to drink and then we’ll leave you alone,” Sam told him quietly. He turned on the coffee maker as Steve sat down across from James.

“You know, you can always talk to me, if you want. If you need someone to talk to,” Steve whispered. James was avoiding his eyes, looking down at his lap with a dark expression. Steve couldn’t tell if he was angry or embarrassed. Maybe both, he mused.

“I can’t talk to you.”

“Why not? James, we’ve been friends for our whole lives-”

“Not to me, we haven’t. I just met you.”

“You just met Dr. Daley too,” Sam pointed out mildly, pouring water from a liquid measuring cup into the back of the coffee maker.

“I can’t talk to you about this stuff, Steve. She's a trained professional. Anyway, it would upset you.”

“I can take it.”

“You’d cry.” James let out a short, barking laugh and then he was crying himself, Steve staring in shock. Sam moved away from the counter to come to James’ side and squatted beside his chair.

“Hey, James, crying is okay. You can cry, Steve can cry, I can cry. But if you don’t want to talk to Steve about what happened to you, that’s fine. No one is going to force you,” he murmured, squeezing James’ shoulder. He sent a look at Steve and gestured for him to go back into their bedroom.

“I want to be here for him,” Steve signed quickly, when James' face was buried in Sam's shoulder.

“It's okay. I've got him,” Sam replied.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

When Dr. Daley knocked on the door to the apartment, Steve and Sam had already gone back into their bedroom with mugs of coffee. Steve promised Sam that he wouldn’t eavesdrop on James and the doctor, but Sam only half-believed him. 

James opened the door and ushered the doctor in, leading her to the kitchen where he’d turned on all the lights and started heating water on the stove for tea. 

Even at one in the morning, and presumably after she’d recently had a baby, Dr. Daley still looked like the image of perfect beauty. Her hair was wrapped up in a traditional African scarf and she wore a black velvet track suit with a white stripe down the side. With only a dab of blush, mascara and a touch of pink lipstick to add to her beauty, James wondered if she woke up looking this put-together. 

She dropped a black D&G bag on the table and started unpacking art supplies without a word. 

“Thanks for coming over so quickly, Doctor. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient for you,” James said anxiously, pouring a mug of hot water and dropping in a blueberry tea bag. He offered it to her but she waved him off.

“I had some coffee right before you called me, but thank you. And, no, it wasn’t inconvenient. I needed a break from the baby anyway,” she told him. He sat down at the table and took a sip of the blueberry tea himself. His feet moved restlessly under the table.

Daley set out several pieces of white stock paper on the table and a few packs of various drawing utensils: crayons, markers, colored pencils, and black ink pens. 

“Use whatever you’d like,” she told him, sitting down and pulling a piece of paper towards herself. 

“Okay.”

“Draw whatever you’d like,” she added. 

James gathered a piece of paper and several different crayons. He felt a little silly drawing with crayons as a grown adult but Dr. Daley took a few crayons too and started drawing, and he started to feel more comfortable. He drew the floor first, the white and black checkered tile that he’d seen so brilliantly in his dream. On top of it sat a golden, claw-foot tub, in the center of the room. James spent extra time getting the clawed-feet on the tub right because he’d seen them close up when he’d been laying on his stomach on the bathroom floor. Then he drew the tiny yellow ducks in the tub, and in the middle of them, himself. 

He took almost no time drawing himself, just smudging out a quick, human-shaped pale figure in the middle of the tub. He tried to draw his hair, hanging down in wet tendrils like it had been, but his hands started shaking too hard and he had to set the crayon down before he could snap it. Dr. Daley didn’t seem to notice, or pretended that she didn’t.

“What’re you drawing?” she asked casually, glancing over at his drawing with some interest. James looked at her paper and saw that she’d drawn a family standing in a line with a plain white background, like a kindergartner who was asked what their family looked like.

Tiny stick-figure Dr. Daley, who wore a pink, triangular dress, stood beside a stick-figure man in a wheelchair. Beside the man stood a centimeter-tall baby wearing a pink bow on her bald head. 

“I’m drawing my memory,” James told her, looking back at his own paper. He’d drawn Pierce in the corner of the room. He couldn’t draw him sitting on the toilet like he’d been in the dream. Since the paper was white and the toilet had been white, he decided against it. 

“What’s happening in your picture?” Dr. Daley nudged on. 

“Um, it’s me, in the bath. I think...I think I’d just gotten back from a mission. There was blood on me, and I scrubbed it off. By myself.”

“That’s good. You took care of yourself. You didn’t get to do much of that during your time with HYDRA, did you?”

“No,” James said softly. His vision was blurring and his dripping tears were destroying his beautiful picture. I ruin everything I touch, he thought to himself.

“Who’s that there in the corner?” Daley asked, reaching out a manicured finger and tapping the man who was supposed to be sitting on a toilet.

“That’s Pierce,” James mumbled. “He’s watching me bathe.”

“That’s not okay. He didn’t have your permission to do that.”

James glanced up at Daley to see if she was making fun of him, but her eyes were somber as she stared down at the drawing of Pierce.

“You’re right. He didn’t.” James said. 

“Sometimes, when people do things to our bodies that we don’t give them permission to do, we may start to feel worthless and empty, like they’ve taken away part of our identity. When really, they’ve just made us stronger.” 

“You’re saying I should be thankful for what happened?” 

“No,” Daley said, meeting James’ eyes with enough feeling to make his breath hitch, “I’m saying that even though this man may have treated you as worthless, as his pet, as his slave, that’s not what you are. You hold so much more worth than you know. Steve loves you. Sam loves you. You bring so much meaning and joy to people’s lives. Do you believe that?" 

“Not really,” James whispered. How could he believe that? He was so selfish; he’d made Steve pay for his hospital care, and now his mental care, his housing, his food, and in repayment he woke Steve up in the middle of the night with his flashbacks and snapped at him when he showed any concern.

“Our goal should be to help you understand your worth and meaning. To help you love yourself as other people love you.” 

“You just don’t understand,” James told her, wiping his eyes and moving his drawing away so he didn’t cry on it more. 

“I don’t understand?” Daley raised her eyebrows and set her hands flat down on the table, leaning in some to speak. “James, I am a black female doctor living in one of the most racist countries in the world. All of my grandparents were slaves in their early lives. My ancestors were all slaves too. So I do understand what it means to feel worthless, to be stepped on by other people as if I don’t matter as much as they do.” 

James couldn’t tear his eyes away from her blazing ones. 

“But just because some people don’t respect you, some people hurt you, some people treat you like dirt or worse, you are worth something. You are important. You are so important, James.”

She reached out and took his hands in hers, squeezing as hard as she could.

“You’re important,” she repeated. “You’re worth so much. You’re lovable. You’re not dirty, or disgusting, or whatever else he said you were. You’re not a slut.” 

James flinched away at the word, pulling his hands out of her grasp. She seemed like she was reading his mind, trying to diffuse every bad thought about himself he was having.

“Yes, I am. I am a slut. I’m not...I’m not even gay, and-” 

“This isn’t about sexual orientation. It isn’t even about sex. Rape is not sex, James. It’s an act of submitting your power over someone else. You didn’t have sex with Alexander Pierce. HE raped YOU. See the difference?”

“Yes...” he answered reluctantly. 

Daley continued looking at him, nodding, struggling to help him understand. After she looked away, James resumed his drawing nervously. She was really passionate about the idea of making him into the victim, even though he knew the real victims were the hundreds of people he'd killed. He was anything but the victim.

“I think it would be beneficial to you if you shared some of what you’re feeling with your friends,” Daley added out of the blue

“My friends?” James looked up in confusion. Some of the doctor’s hair had fallen out of the scarf atop her head and it gave her more of a frazzled, tired look. James wondered if maybe she wanted to go home and sleep instead of continuing on with him.

“Steve and Sam.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think you could do that?”

“I don’t think so. Steve will hate me.”

“If he’s known you for as long as you told me he has, I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make him hate you.”

James went to bed that night thinking over everything that Dr. Daley had said to him. It seemed impossible to tell Steve about his flashbacks. He didn’t want to see that helpless, miserable expression on Steve’s face, the same expression he’d had at the hospital when James had admitted that he didn’t have a single memory from his past life.

He reached over to switch off the lamp and curled up on his side, clutching the familiar wristwatch close to his heart.

\----------------------------------------------------------

James was awake and out of bed before both Sam and Steve, and he was glad when he walked into the kitchen and saw that Dr. Daley had cleaned up their art supplies. She’d taken James’ drawing with her when he’d told her he didn’t want it. 

He started a pot of coffee and ambled into the living room to catch a Sunday morning cartoon. One of his favorites was a black-and-white program called Coolie Kim, a cartoon about a little girl who helped animals solve mysteries in small-town Massachusetts. When he heard the floorboards creak, he looked over his shoulder and saw Steve leaning against the door frame, watching the TV with a nostalgic, sleepy expression. 

“When we were younger, and televisions just started to become available to regular average-day people like us, your mother worked extra shifts at the drugstore for six weeks to buy us a television. We were so excited...” Steve mused, folding his arms across his chest. “We watched Coolie Kim every Sunday morning for three years until you got to Junior High. You absolutely loved it. You could quote every single one of Kim’s lines.” 

“This show’s been out for that long?” 

“Yeah. It was one of America’s first television programs.” 

James couldn’t remember ever having seen the show before living with Steve and Sam, but he gave Steve a forced smile and went back to watching the show.

“You don’t remember watching this with me?”

James turned around again and tried not to shout at Steve. He settled for speaking slowly, like he was talking to a small child. “Steve, I don’t want to have to remind you one more time. I cannot remember anything before three weeks ago, and I probably never will. Please always assume that, unless I ever tell you otherwise.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve looked down at the ground and James was instantly dashed with guilt. It was tough on Steve too, James knew, having the rug pulled out from under him so suddenly. He couldn’t help the fact that this person who Steve had known so well, who had been his best friend and possibly his former lover, was now gone. Bucky might as well be dead to him.

“It’s a good sign that I like the same show as I used to, though, isn’t it?” James asked lightly.

“Sure.” Steve disappeared back into the kitchen and James heard him and Sam’s low murmuring. He focused his super-human hearing, trying to make out their words.

“Why don’t you think he’s comfortable telling me what’s happening to him? He clearly remembered something from his past...he was screaming, Sam-”

“I know, babe. But we can’t force him to open up to us. He doesn’t know us; we’re still strangers to him. All we can do is make him feel comfortable and support him and hope he warms up to us,” Sam murmured. 

Before Steve could respond, there was a loud knocking at the door and James was on his feet in a second. Panic had gripped his throat and now he could hardly breathe. The knocking came again and James dashed his panic, reasoning that no one dangerous could be knocking on Steve’s door. It was probably just Natasha or Clint, he told himself. 

His suspicions were confirmed when he answered the door and Natasha stood in the hallway. She wore a sleek green cocktail dress and a white faux-fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her red curly hair was packed on top of her head in a bun design, held together by a diamond-jeweled clip.

“Uh, going to the prom?” James asked as she pushed past him and into the kitchen. He followed her to see what she was doing. She plopped down at the table with a dramatic sigh and Sam, who had been standing at the sink, set a mug of coffee down in front of her.

“Are you on the way to a prom?” Steve asked incredulously, looking her over with confusion.

“Would you be surprised if I told you that that’s exactly what James just asked me?” she said, taking a delicate sip of her coffee, careful not to smudge her bright red lipstick.

Steve and James’ eyes met, and James was quick to look away, erupting into a fit of coughing; he’d choked on his mouthful of coffee.

“I’m actually on my way to the opera, if you must know,” Tasha told them.

“Naturally, at seven o’clock in the morning on a Sunday, you’re on your way to the opera. Understandable,” Sam said, nodding absentmindedly. 

“Ugh,” Natasha said, and then followed it up with a few Russian words under her breath. 

“I don’t think not going to the opera makes them uncultured jocks,” James chuckled. He raised his cup to take a sip and when he lowered it, he was staring into three pairs of wide eyes, hazel, blue, and brown, and a sea of dropped jaws.

“You speak Russian?” Natasha said, recovering first, her bright hazel eyes burning into his. He felt pinned to the spot.

“Um...” James didn’t think he’d heard anyone speak Russian since he woke up in the hospital, so he assumed he'd known if from before. “I guess I do.”

“Did he know Russian before HYDRA took him?” Tasha was addressing the shell-shocked, still frozen Steve.

“No.” Steve said it with enough force that James instantly believed him. But why would HYDRA teach him Russian?

“HYDRA must have taught it to him,” Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But you haven’t recalled anything from before you jumped off the building, right?” Tasha asked James. She asked it in Russian, and he understood her completely.

“A few memories, but nothing substantial. Just random things,” he answered in her language.

“What are you guys saying?” Steve demanded, his face turning pink while he pursed his lips in frustration. 

“This must be how Clint feels all the time,” Tasha said, continuing to speak in her native tongue. James laughed quietly at Steve’s rising anger and Sam’s amusement as he watched his boyfriend’s jealousy build.

“Probably. What opera are you attending?” 

“Iolanta. Hey! If you speak Russian, you’ll understand it completely! You should come with me!” she exclaimed. Steve huffed loudly and got up from the table, pouring his remaining coffee into the sink.

“Steve, chill out. Look how happy he is,” Sam whispered, gesturing to Natasha and James chattering away in fluent Russian. Tasha laughed at something James said and he looked at Steve.

“I’m going to the opera with Natasha. Is that okay?” he asked, furrowing his brow as if he expected Steve to say no.

“You don’t need our permission. We’re your roommates, not your parents,” Sam chided, winking at James to let him know that he wasn’t lecturing him before he set to work on making breakfast.

“They’d be terrible parents,” Natasha joked in Russian.

“The worst,” James agreed vaguely, watching as Steve ducked his head to kiss the side of Sam’s face. The other man smiled and half-heartedly pushed Steve away. James wondered what they’d be like as parents. He couldn’t remember his own, but he hoped they’d been like the two of them. If they let Steve live with him, they must have been amazing. 

Steve noticed James watching them and gave him a small, secret smile, a smile just for him. He looked so familiar, yet so foreign, that it took James’ breath away. Steve’s eyes crinkled at the corners and it looked like slow motion to James as Steve turned his face to the side and Sam leaned forward to kiss him. Steve raised a hand to cup Sam’s chin and James forced himself to look away. Feeling as if something was lodged in his throat, he muttered to Natasha that he had to go change for the opera and disappeared into his bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha takes James to the opera Iolanta.

Without his memories, James didn’t know if he’d ever been to the opera before or if this was to be his first time, but either way, his body was taut with nerves. Anything could lie out in those busy winter New York streets. Even worse, the theater would be stuffy and crowded, filled with people who may or may not try to kill him. Only last week he’d seen a documentary on President Lincoln, who had apparently been shot and killed at the theater. A theater much like the one James was about to subject himself to. He was slowly regretting his decision to go.

“Have you ever heard of the play Iolanta?” Natasha asked gently. He’d been peering out of the car window nervously, taking in all the unsupervised children playing in the streets in their snow gear and the young couples holding hands on the sidewalks, and he didn’t even realize that she’d asked him a question, let alone in Russian.

“No.” 

“If you’re feeling nervous, I can always bring you back to Steve and Sam...” 

James’ mind snapped back to Steve and Sam in the kitchen, only a few minutes before, kissing and embracing right in front of him, and his stomach twisted.

“No, I don’t want to go back,” he assured her, turning away from the window so she could see his forced smile. “Being around people just makes me nervous. I’ll get over it.”

“Okay.”

James looked down at his hands, curled into fists in his lap, and tried to force them to relax. Sam had given him a pair of green, soft wool gloves to wear, for warmth and to cover his metal hand. He also wore a white button-down shirt and a black suit jacket, both gifts from Steve, since James didn’t have any of this own clothes yet. Sam kept suggesting that they go out shopping so that James had more items to call his own, but he refused. He didn’t want any more items to call his own. All he had was the wristwatch Pierce had given him and the lamp Steve let him buy. The lamp seemed somehow familiar to James, but he didn’t tell Steve that. Those two things were all the things he needed.

The cab took a sharp left turn down an alley and suddenly, there it was. Bucky had never seen anything so glorious and full of splendor. They’d driven past the front of the very same building on the way to James’ therapy appointment, but it had looked like an abandoned factory to him, complete with vulgar graffiti and smashed windows. But now, as they got out of the cab around the back of the building, it was built up like a brick castle, the windows intact and shining with a golden light.

Seeming to read his mind, Natasha commented, “It’s kind of hidden away from the masses so that only the special few know about it. All the plays are in Russian and the place only accepts the elitist members.”

James didn’t like how she said the “elite members” but he stayed silent as he followed her through the black gate on the back of the building and then through the doorway.

On the bottom floor of the building, they were on the top tier of balconies. The opera house was presumably under the abandoned building, making it more elusive and difficult to find. Lavish red curtains cut off sections of each of the balconies, and when James stepped forward to look over the balcony railing, he saw the balconies went far into the ground, almost endlessly. The stage was so far down he could barely see it from his place against the railing. 

“James, let’s head down to the mezzanine. I got us reserved seating,” Natasha called out, waving him towards an antique-looking elevator. An elevator attendant stood inside, straight-faced and professional, his hands clasped in front of him. Natasha slid the gate aside and let James step in first, before she moved to the spot beside him and the attendant slid the gate closed. James stared out through the bars in the gate as the attendant pressed a button on the wall for the lowest level without being asked, and they started to descend.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little queasy,” Natasha whispered right beside his ear, her delicate, gloved hand touching his shoulder. He felt a little queasy, but he didn’t want her knowing why. Steve had told him that HYDRA was mostly underground, and that’s probably where James had spent most of his time. Now he felt like he was walking back towards that fate.

“It’s a lot to take in. I didn’t even know this place existed. We even drove by it once...” he said. The attendant studiously ignored their conversation.

“Isn’t it beautiful, though?” Her eyes were shining with excitement.

“Yeah.”

When they hit the bottom floor and the elevator lurched to a stop, James grabbed onto the wall to avoid toppling over and the attendant opened the gate for them to exit.

“Thank you, Alexander,” Natasha said, discreetly slipping him an unknown banknote. She slipped her arm through James’ as they stepped out of the elevator on the lowest balcony level.

Now James understood what she’d meant she she’d said only elite members attended operas there. She wasn’t talking about white supremacists, or Russians who hated Americans, as James had thought. But now as he looked at the people milling about with glasses of wine, chatting away in Russian, he knew what she meant. They were freaks.

The outcasts of society, people with large metal rods through their noses, women with three-foot-tall African headdresses, men with webbed hands and green hair, seemingly parentless children with slitted yellow eyes like cats. Within them, James felt utterly out of place. Even though Natasha was next to normal, she looked comfortable among the crowd of people. James wanted a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him up.

“Natasha, what is this place?” he hissed, deciding to speak in English in case Russian was the only language the other people knew. 

“It’s a freak show, isn’t it?” she joked, pulling him by the arm through a group of people with silvery, sparkling teeth towards the mezzanine. They took their seats on the balcony; most people weren’t in their seats yet, so James and Natasha were alone to talk. 

“James, I brought you here because of this,” she said, reaching over to him and slipping off his left glove, revealing his metal hand.

“Natasha!” he hissed, snatching the glove from her and sliding it back on. Thankfully, no one had noticed his hand in the second it had been exposed.

“Everyone here is a freak, James. They embrace people who are different. And your metal arm will look like nothing compared to some of the other things going on here. I wanted to take you somewhere where you can be completely yourself,” she told him. This time, when she reached out to gently peel the glove off his hand, he didn’t stop her. Was this really a place where people would accept him, no matter what was wrong with him? Despite his flaws? He was reluctant to find out.

“Watch this,” she said, and then she was twisting in her seat to call out to a couple on the other side of the room.

“Brontis! May! Over here!”

James ducked his head and hissed at her not to bring attention to them, tucking his hand into his armpit so they wouldn’t see the metal. The couple made their way over, holding their glasses of wine above their heads so if people bumped them they wouldn’t spill the drinks, and arrived in front of Tasha.

The man was as physically intimidating as James was, tall and built like a tank, with buzzed hair and black eyes. James couldn’t tell what was different about him until he turned to smile at his partner and James noticed that his ear was missing, only a nasty scar in its place. 

The woman, however, was more obviously different. Blue floral tattoos covered most of her upper body, her arms, her chest, her neck, everything but her face. She wore bright blue colored contacts and had blue hair to match. On her body, she wore a black T-shirt with no bra and boy-shorts underwear. Over her underwear she wore fishnet stockings, and with her slender frame, James thought she look stunning. 

“Brontis, May, I’d like to introduce you to my friend James. This is his first opera,” Natasha said. The woman extended her hand first and James pulled off his other glove to shake her hand. Her hand was kind of sweaty, but James didn’t mind as he moved over to shake the man’s hand too.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the man, Brontis, said in a deep Russian accent. He was speaking in English, probably thinking that James didn’t speak Russian.

“Likewise,” James replied in a small voice. They still hadn’t noticed James’ metal hand and he knew that he still had time to get out of there. The elevator was only a few paces behind him, and James knew if he took a springing leap off the back of his chair, he could get through the crowd before any of them had time to grab him. It would only take a quick snap of the neck to get rid of the elevator attendant and then he was home free...

Why am I thinking like this?! he realized after a few moments. Steve and Sam had told him about how the brainwashing from HYDRA had made him a violent killing machine, but that part of his life was over. Wasn’t it?

“Are you from New York?” the blue woman, May, asked James, making his head snap up to look at her. She was watching him with a comfortable, non-threatening smile.

“Yes, Brooklyn,” he responded. Steve reminded him of that several times a day so he wasn’t likely to forget.

“Brontis and I just moved here from New Jersey,” she told him, looking over at her partner and raising an eyebrow. He nodded.

“But we’re originally from Russian,” he added.

“I speak Russian,” James told him with a small shred of confidence. May looked pleased and switched to Russian when she asked, “How’d you come to learn the language?”

James turned to look at Natasha for help. She’d been quiet up until then, letting James get to know these new people, but now he wasn’t sure what to say. Was he supposed to tell them that he’d been taken hostage by a Russian terrorist organization that taught him Russian for an unexplained reason?

“He’s not comfortable saying,” Natasha piped up, reaching out to give James’ flesh hand a friendly squeeze. Instead of looking offended or confused, May simply nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“James, my friend, you look empty without a glass of wine in your hand. Let me show you where the bar is,” Brontis said. Natasha smiled at James encouragingly, letting him know that it was alright. Everything was alright.

“Uh, okay, thanks,” he said, following Brontis away from the two women, who’d already started chatting rapidly about Iolanta. 

“You must be a pretty charming guy to be able to pin down that wild thing,” Brontis said with a twinkle in his eye as he lead James to the bar. It took him a second to realize that the other man was talking about Natasha.

“Oh, no, we’re not together.”

“You’re not?”

“No, she’s my...she’s my roommate’s friend.”

The man behind the bar had long flowing blond hair which he kept in two side-braids and diamond piercings all over his face. He handed a brown drink to a woman with one eye before turning to James and asking in English, “What can I get you?”

James felt like a deer in headlights, standing there with his mouth open, trying to remember any drinks he’d heard Steve or Sam mention. He’d tried wine with dinner a few nights ago with Steve and he remembered not liking it. 

“Um...” he said, wracking his brain. The bartender raised an eyebrow.

“No sweat, man, take your time,” he said eventually, moving down the bar to help another man.

“If you don’t drink, they have non-alcoholic stuff too,” Brontis told him.

“I drink. I just can’t...I can’t remember what I like...” He could feel his cheeks growing hot and knew that this was the time when the other person was supposed to scoff or laugh, looking away in discomfort or becoming irritated. Instead, Brontis said, “It’s all right. There’s another guy here with pretty bad memory loss, and he has this trouble a lot. I bet the bartender could recommend something to you.”

James was stunned by how respectful and cool this man was being, and when the bartender made his way back around, James asked him for a recommendation.

“Do you know if you like sweeter drinks or stiffer drinks?” the bartender asked.

“Stiffer.”

“Let’s do a vodka tonic. That’ll be two dollars and thirty one cents. Would you like to start a tab?”

When Brontis and James made their way back to Natasha and May, the lights in the room flickered, signaling that the show was about to start. James took his seat next to Natasha and Brontis sat on his other side, May on his left. 

The lights dimmed gradually and James was thrust into darkness. He desperately wanted to text Steve and see what he was doing, but he refrained. 

A spotlight appeared on the stage just as a young woman appeared from behind the curtain. She was short but robust, and as soon as soft piano music drifted out from below the stage, she started belting out a somber piece. James couldn’t understand everything she was singing about, even though he spoke Russian, but he gathered that she was some kind of royalty and she was blind. She kept crying out and touching her eyes, dancing around the stage in sadness as she sang. When James looked over at Nat to see if she was enjoying it, he saw that she was mouthing along with the words Princess Iolanta sang.

“Another drink?” Brontis whispered. James looked down and was surprised to see that he’d finished his gin and tonic. Steve had explained that it was impossible for him to get drunk because of the serum, so he quietly excused himself with Brontis to go back to the bar. 

“How’d you like the drink?” the bartender asked him, and James responded, “It was good. I’d like to try something different, though. Something with tequila?”

Back at their seats, James was starting to feel more and more comfortable being around this crowd of freaks. With his anxiety subsiding, he occasionally leaned over to Tasha to whisper his opinions about the opera. She responded with small giggles or feigned annoyance. 

After finishing his drink, James was beginning to feel like he had to go to the bathroom, so he told Natasha and then slipped past Brontis to ask the bartender where it was. It turned out that he didn’t need to; two sections over, there was a glowing sign above a doorway that read Gender-Neutral Restroom. 

James made sure to close the bathroom door behind him silently so he wouldn’t disturb the people watching the opera. Once inside, he saw that all the walls were actually mirrors, and there were a few stalls in the back, separated from the room by a curtain. He ducked inside one, locked the door, and relieved himself. After zipping up his slacks, he left the stall and went to the mirror to check his hair.

His back went instantly rigid as the bathroom door opened and someone came inside. It was painfully obvious to him that he was trapped in the bathroom with this person. Panicking, he snuck a quick look at the person who’d come in and saw that it was a man with a flash of pink hair who wore a black tuxedo. He gave James a gruff hello and then made his way towards the stalls.

As James turned back towards the sinks, he saw in the mirror reflection the man turn away from the stalls with a determined look on his face. James’ hands tightened on the counter but before he could swing around, the man had him in a headlock and was shoving him against the counter. The flash of pink hair had fallen off his head. A wig. 

“Ah!” James cried out, feeling something sting the back of his neck like a giant wasp. He shoved the man off of him but his strength was seeping away as quickly as blood, and he swayed on his feet. He swung around and the man stood in front of him in a fighting stance, his fists up in front of his face. With his last ounce of strength, James swung his metal fist at the man, who easily ducked out of the way before James crumpled to the ground. He tried to call out, tried to fight his way out of the stupor the sting had given him, but he was just too tired. Too tired. So tired, he thought, as he stared up at the bright bathroom lights above him...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at the opera go terribly wrong.

It was around the third act of Iolanta that Natasha realized that James still hadn’t gotten back from the restroom. She excused herself as she stood up and passed Brontis and May. She got to the restroom door and slipped inside.

Empty, she saw. Even after she checked under the stalls and called out James’ name, he was nowhere to be found.

She pulled her phone out, considering calling Steve. Seeing the flashing message on the screen, she decided against it. Steve was already too worried, and if James was just outside smoking or at the bar getting a drink, calling Steve would just make matters worse. Steve would worry and when she found James, Steve would make her bring him back right away.

The text from Steve read: How’s James? Is he having fun? Does he need anything?

Natasha turned off her phone and walked out to go question the bartender.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

After talking to the bartender, the elevator attendant, the man guarding backstage, and Brontis and May, Natasha was panicking. No one had seen James leave the building, not even to smoke. James hadn’t visited the bar since his last drink. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air.

Natasha went into the coat check area, where the man checking coats had fallen asleep with his head on the table, and pulled her phone out to call Steve.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Natasha? Is everything okay?”

“I...” Steve was going to kill her. “I lost James.”

“You WHAT? You do you mean, you lost him?”

“I can’t find him. He’s gone. He went to the bathroom about an hour ago and-”

“AN HOUR AGO?!” Steve’s voice was rising in pitch and Natasha heard him moving around, probably getting dressed to head straight over. Feeling horribly small, she continued, “I was watching the opera and I just didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think?!” he snarled into the phone. “I can’t believe you left him for that long...”

“I wasn’t going to follow him to the fucking bathroom! He’s a man!”

“With government agents trying to arrest him left and right! You can’t leave him alone! Even for a SECOND!”

“I’m sorry.” Natasha felt tears gathering in her eyes. She couldn’t imagine what James must be feeling, or where he was, what they were doing to him...

“Lock down the place,” Steve’s voice came angrily through the phone.

“I’m not in charge of the building-”

“LOCK IT DOWN, NATASHA!!!” He was screaming into the phone now, and though Natasha could hear Sam’s voice trying to calm him down from the other end, it wasn’t doing much good.

“Okay, I will. Tell Clint to wait at your apartment in case James shows us. Gather up the team and meet me at 2024 West Almek Street. Go around the back of the building. Just tell the bouncer you’re with me; he’ll let you in.”

Natasha heard the line drop and knew that he’d hung up. She stowed the phone back in her jacket pocket and headed for the doorman. 

“Call the police.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James couldn’t feel his body. He felt as though he laid inside a stiflingly hot egg, and he couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t call out for help, only laid under what felt like hundreds of layers of yolk, soaking his skin and giving off the most awful stench.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Barnes,” a soft voice pierced through the egg shell, and suddenly he was being thrust up out of the layers of yolk, out of the numb, suffocating liquid and he opened his eyes to see that he didn’t lay inside an egg. He sat in a chair. 

A large, metal chair like the kind they had in dentist offices, except this one had metal cuffs that locked James’ wrists down to the arm rests and also consisted of a metal strap across James’ lap and chest to lock him in. His ankles were also tied down with leather straps.

There was a man standing in front of him. He was imposing in the way he stood, up close, close enough to touch James, large eyes inside a small, completely circular bald head. His eyes stared hungrily at James’ face, not moving, hardly blinking. James almost didn’t notice another man standing a little ways behind the bald man, holding a clipboard to his chest nervously, his too-large glasses slipping down his nose. He looked like he could be young enough to be in high school.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” the bald man in the lab coat continued, moving his eyes down to look over James’ body. James looked down at himself and saw that he still wore his suit from the opera. That was a good sign. Nothing had happened to him while he was passed out.

“Who are you? What am I doing here?” James demanded, his eyes wheeling around the room. It even looked like a dentist office, complete with a step on the ground to make James’ chair lean back and a rolling tray of dental supplies.

“I’m Dr. Brown. I oversaw some of your care during your time with Pierce,” the man continued quietly, calmly. He was wearing a small smile.

But James instantly went rigid, pulling against his wrist cuffs. No, no, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be back with HYDRA.

He had the serum. He could break free. He had to break free. This could not be happening. Steve said that they’d destroyed HYDRA. Steve told him...he promised...

“Do not try and fight. I’ve injected you with some sedative, so you have the strength of a regular man. This is reinforced metal,” he said, gesturing to the chair. “And you won’t get out of it.”

“Why are you doing this?” James yelled in the man’s face. He was so fucking terrified. 

“You see, I was a very good friend of Alexander’s,” Dr. Brown said, starting to circle James’ chair like a lion ready to pounce. James didn’t like not being able to see him; he was too vulnerable, too terrified. 

“And when he was tragically killed,” he continued, “his last request to me was to continue his work. I always worked in the shadows at HYDRA, you’ve never met me, and so I was the perfect one to continue his legacy. No government agent, no Avenger-” He spat the word. “-would even know who to look for. They think HYDRA is dead and gone. But they forgot about the shadow men. It’s taken me almost two years to even set up this tiny underground office, and even this is a measly version of what I have planned for us. The New HYDRA. An indestructible laboratory, too safely hidden to be found by any people looking for you.”

“You’ll never get away with this. It’s just you up against a group of highly trained assassins. You’ll never win,” James told him.

“That’s what they all say,” the man said, gesturing for the younger man behind him to step forward. He did, pushing the glasses back up on his nose. He held the clipboard out for Dr. Brown.

“Hunter, prepare the subject for Test #239A,” Dr. Brown ordered, taking the clipboard and stepping out of the room through a door James hadn’t seen before. Hunter, the younger man, shuffled over to the tray of dental supplies and James saw him filling up a syringe of clear liquid.

“Hey, hey, hey, please, don’t do this,” James begged as the man flicked the syringe vial with his fingernail.

“It’s my job,” Hunter said regretfully, coming over with the needle. 

“Please,” he continued, “you know this is wrong. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to do this.” 

“It’s my job.” Hunter shrugged. He stowed the needle in his pocket to pull out a pair of scissors and cut the sleeve off of James’ shirt and jacket on his right side, his flesh arm. Then he pulled the needle out again.

“Stop, stop, please, don’t do this,” James continued frantically, trying to yank his arm away, trying to move himself further away from the needle, but he was locked in like a vise. The man stuck the needle into the inside of James’ elbow and injected the ice-cold liquid into his vein.

“Hail HYDRA,” Hunter mumbled, pulling the needle out and laying it back on the tray of tools. James was starting to feel dizzy already, and he feared that he was about to throw up all over himself. With a pounding head, he tried to look for the man again, to beg him to let him go, but the man was gone.

“Please,” he groaned, and then he was out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has been missing for almost twelve hours and tempers begin to rise.

Waking up was like floating to the top of a blissfully warm pool. James simply floated to the top and opened his eyes. A bright light was blinding him but he couldn’t close his eyes again; the light was so beautiful, so vibrant, so...and it was gone. The light moved away and left only spots of black in his vision. The ceiling above him was made of white freckled tiles. It seemed familiar to James, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.

And then he was moving, something lifting him up slowly until he realized that he was back in the chair, and the chair was folding into a sitting position. His arms and legs were still locked down. 

His suit was gone, replaced by no shirt and a pair of loose-fitting grey sweatpants. Someone had shaved his chest and stomach so he was completely hairless. The scars from where they’d attached the metal arm years before were viciously pink and inflamed, like someone had made him stretch his arm too far. 

But he felt no pain. Whatever they’d done to him, they’d done it while he was asleep, and all he felt now was a calm sleepiness. 

The man he recognized as Dr. Brown came into the room with Hunter trailing uneasily behind him like a frightened shadow.

“How do you feel?” the doctor asked him.

“Tired.” His words were slurred and his tongue felt large and heavy.

“That is to be expected,” he responded.

“What did you do to me?” James gestured his chin down towards his hairless chest. Dr. Brown pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder at Hunter for a fraction of a second before turning back to James with a complacent smile. 

“It is simply easier for us to perform our experiments if there is no hair getting in the way. It’s more sanitary. Also,” he paused, his smile turning sinister. “It’s more aesthetically pleasing.” James watched Hunter become pale and wipe a shaky hand over his forehead.

“Aesthetically pleasing,” James repeated, looking down at himself again. He couldn’t tell exactly what they’d done to him, but he didn’t feel...violated. He wasn’t sore and he wasn’t in pain, so maybe they were only trying to scare him. He didn’t see any blood or scars and the tiredness was lifting, the serum fighting off the sedation quickly.

“We don’t want to waste any more sedative on you, so Hunter will perform the rest of today’s experiments. Hunter, if you will...” Dr. Brown moved out of the way and Hunter came up to the chair, not close enough for James to grab him if he broke free.

“I’ll be right outside,” Dr. Brown assured his assistant, and then he quickly exited through the invisible door in the wall. Hunter pulled up a plastic chair that James hadn’t seen before and took a seat beside James. He still held the clipboard.

“What did you do to me?” James whispered. Hunter was avoiding James’ eyes as he scribbled something down on the clipboard and then set it on the floor. He pulled a tiny white pill out of his jacket pocket and held it out in front of James’ face. 

“Swallow this,” he ordered. James stared at him with a tightly locked jaw. He shook his head, daring Hunter to make him open his mouth. Did he seriously think that he would just willingly open his mouth for a pill? 

Hunter reached out with his other hand and squeezed James’ nose shut. James hadn’t had time to take a deep breath beforehand and now air was becoming scarce. His brain was screaming at him to bring in more air and he struggled in his bonds, trying to break free, anything, anything to get free. No pills. No pills, he begged in his mind. Finally he opened his mouth to suck in a deep breath and Hunter dropped the pill in. It was so small that he swallowed it without meaning to.

“Fuck!” he cried out when Hunter moved away to grab his clipboard again. He was panting, sucking in as much air as possible, filling his lungs with the vital life force he’d been deprived of.

A sharp pain blossomed out in his head and he hissed in pain, ducking his head forward. Jesus, it was like someone had driven a stake into his temple. The lights seemed impossibly bright and he struggled to breathe properly with this pain driving him mad. What was this? What had they done to him?

“What’s happening?!” James yelped, slamming his head back into the metal headrest. Anything to get rid of the pain, he told himself as his vision blurred from the impact. Hunter was writing at warp speed on his clipboard as he watched the pill torture James from the inside.

“Hunter, please, make this stop! Please, make it stop!” he shrieked, thrashing wildly in the chair to try and break free. It was the most intense pain he could ever think was possible. The pain was increasing and he was sure his head was on fire now. He barely registered that he was sobbing as he saw blood drip down onto his bare chest. His mind vaguely realized that it was dripping from his nose. He must be dying, he thought. He must be. He welcomed it gladly, willing to be dragged down into oblivion just to lessen his pain.

“Only ten more seconds, then it’ll go away,” Hunter promised him, as if it would make him feel better. He was gritting his teeth hard enough to crack a few and his body was covered in terrified sweat. The bonds wouldn’t loosen as he was forced to endure the pain sitting still, banging his head back into the metal headrest over and over.

“Remind Dr. Brown to get a cushion for the headrest,” Hunter mumbled to himself, inaudible over James’ screaming.

He took a gasping breath when the pain started ebbing away, and after a few seconds, it was completely gone. Panting and moaning, James sagged in the chair and he tried to keep himself from passing out.

Dr. Brown came back into the room with a wet washcloth and wiped it across James’ forehead while Hunter gently forced James’ mouth open and stuck a thermometer under his tongue. James was in too much shock to fight back, to exhausted to struggle.

“103.6, sir,” Hunter reported.

“We can do better,” Dr. Brown mused, pulling the washcloth away and instead slapping a pack of wipes into Hunter’s hand.

“Clean him off,” he ordered, and was about to leave the room, when he glanced back at James and noticed something. 

“What have we here?” he chuckled, coming back over to James. James followed his eyes and saw a wet stain on the crotch of his sweatpants. He’d pissed himself somewhere in the haze of pain after being given the pill. 

“Maybe we should just throw him in the pool, sir,” Hunter suggested, but the way his face turned red and his mouth twisted suggested that he didn’t want to be involved in the process.

“No, no, I’ll...give me the wipes,” Dr. Brown said, scooting the plastic chair closer to James as the wipes were passed to him. He was staring at the wet spot on James’ pants and James breathing started getting faster again.

“No,” he whispered. This all felt too familiar. He felt what was coming like an impending tsunami, steadying itself before plunging down to drown him.

“Pull his pants out of the way,” Dr. Brown ordered the young man behind him. Hunter just stared at the doctor in horror, staying rooted to the spot.

“Sir...” 

“Do it, or I’ll make you clean him up,” Dr. Brown threatened and Hunter scrambled forward. He stood to Dr. Brown’s left as he reached out and pinched the elastic waistband of James’ pants. James wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath, and he shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, it wasn’t fair. It was too humiliating. 

When the coldness of a wipe touched his cock, his eyes flew open. Dr. Brown was gently wiping his cock, which was settled, wet, pink, and flaccid, in a crowd of dark hair. Hunter’s eyes were squeezed shut, James noticed, and he stood as far away from James as he could without letting go of the waistband of his pants. Dr. Brown was staring at James’ cock, as if in a trance, as he continued cleaning him thoroughly. 

The sensations were strange and unwanted, and unwelcome visions of Steve floated into his consciousness. NO! 

James practically roared it, but it was at himself, not at the doctor. He couldn’t let himself get Steve mixed up in what was happening to him. Then he would get hard...

NO, he repeated in his head, tamping down on the images of Steve.

Dr. Brown nudged James’ cock out of the way and started dabbing at his balls, wiping away the tiny bit of urine that had trickled down onto them.

“Please, stop,” James begged quietly, but Dr. Brown ignored him. He continued on, longer than he needed to, and then he pulled his hand away. Hunter let go of the waistband and it slapped down on top of James’ cock, making him hiss in pain.

“Sorry!” Hunter exclaimed, reaching down and quickly, careful not to touch James’ cock or balls, moving the waistband up so it covered James’ genitals completely.

“Just beautiful,” Dr. Brown murmured. Hunter was silent, his face as pale as ice, his trembling hands holding the used wipe away from him like a dirty diaper.

“Sir,” Hunter said after a couple seconds of silence. “We’re behind schedule. Emmylou said that-”

“Hunter, be quiet,” Dr. Brown responded. “I want to try something else.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jesus, someone get him a blanket, he’s shaking,” Tony said angrily, stomping over to the couch and grabbing Sam’s holey blanket. He brought it over to Steve, who was sitting at the kitchen table, his head on the table, face down against the wood. Tony threw the blanket over Steve’s body and used his rare kindness to tuck the blanket around him. 

“We should call Maria. Maybe James’ been arrested,” Bruce suggested quietly from his place leaning casually against the counter. He held a full cup of coffee carefully in both hands but didn’t drink any.

“If he’d been arrested, they wouldn’t have left no trace,” Natasha said. “Someone would have seen the police or the CIA take him out of the building. They’d have no reason to hide his arrest. In fact, they’d want to do it publicly so that people would see that the big bad Winter Soldier has been brought to justice.”

The door opened and in came Thor and Clint, regretful looks mirrored on both of their faces. Steve didn’t move a muscle.

“We have heard what happened. Steve, our condolences,” Thor said, going over to him and patting his shoulder.

“I don’t need your condolences,” Steve said, his voice muffled against the table. He clutched the blanket more tightly around his body. “He’s not dead, just missing.”

“Nevertheless, we’re sorry,” Clint said, joining them in the kitchen. 

“What happened back there at the theater?” Sam asked, addressing Natasha. She got the sense that everyone in the room was silently blaming her for what happened. “We took down HYDRA, we dismantled their whole organization...for months, I oversaw that we got rid of every person, every document, every link that could ever help them rebuild another network...how could this happen?” 

“We don’t know that HYDRA took him,” Tony said, “only that he’s gone. Maybe he ran, Steve.”

“Not possible,” he snapped.

“It’s always a possibility. If he didn’t remember you, and he felt uncomfortable living with you, maybe he bolted.”

“He wouldn’t,” Sam insisted. “He liked staying with us. I’m sure of it.”

“You did say that he’d been acting weird lately, more irritable and grouchy. Maybe he stopped liking living with you,” Natasha said. Steve was out of his seat and slamming her against the wall before anyone else could react.

“This is your fault, Natasha,” he growled, spittle flying everywhere in his rage. “He didn’t run. HE WOULDN’T.”

Clint appeared behind Steve and grabbed his shoulder in a steel grip. His voice was garbled with feeling when he said, “Let go of her.” It clearly was an order, not an invitation. Steve pulled his hands back and went back to sitting at the table, his head down in hopeless defeat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter and James have some time to talk about their personal lives, and Dr. Brown makes a work proposal to the director of HYDRA.

On the third morning in HYDRA’s possession (or at least James thought it was morning; it was hard to keep track with no windows in the room, and the every-glowing fluorescent lights), Hunter came into the room with a metal tray of food balanced on one hand and carrying a black duffel bag with the other.

“No doctor today?” James asked warily, trying to keep his voice light. Dr. Brown had visited him every day to oversee the pill-taking experiments, but this was the first time they were feeding him, and Dr. Brown was nowhere in sight.

“Dr. Brown had to attend to some other patients this morning.”

Other patients. James’ blood froze as Hunter set the tray of food on his lap and pulled up a chair. No, they wouldn’t...it couldn’t be.

No, he couldn’t panic before he knew. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to slow his sputtering heartbeat.

“Is...is Steve h-here?” James whispered, completely forgetting about tray of steaming, fresh food on his lap.

“Steve? I’m not sure who you mean,” Hunter responded in confusion, leaning down to rummage around in the duffel bag.

It wasn’t enough for James. Just because Hunter didn’t know him by name didn’t mean that Steve wasn’t there.

“Blond man, blue eyes, 6’2, about 220 pounds...his name is Steve Rogers. Is he here?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar to me. We don’t have a lot of adult men here, other than you,” Hunter said, pulling what looked like a small tan pillow out of the bag. 

James swallowed a bitter, shaky breath but still didn’t feel completely relieved. Hunter could be lying. Dr. Brown could be hiding Steve from Hunter, or Hunter could just not recognize James’ description of Steve.

“I’m going to install this on your headrest so you don’t hurt yourself during the experiments,” Hunter explained. He sat down on the plastic chair and pulled a screwdriver out of the duffel bag. James did not like the look of the tool going near his head, so he leaned his neck forward as far as it would go and it took Hunter only seconds to screw in the pillow.

James noticed the smell of the food on his lap and looked down to find buttered biscuits, sliced turkey with gravy, and apple slices, all cut up into tiny, bite-sized pieces. A plastic fork laid beside the plate. 

Hunter put the screwdriver back in the duffel bag and then pulled out a large napkin the size of a tablecloth, laying it across James’ chest and stomach.

“If...if I drop any food on the way to your mouth, I don’t want to have to wipe you down. Sorry,” Hunter explained quickly, his cheeks lighting up as he picked up the fork. James was awash with gratitude. At least he could trust that Hunter wouldn’t touch him in that way. Or at least he hoped he wouldn’t. 

The young medical assistant lifted a forkful of turkey to James’ mouth and James opened obediently. It was the first thing he’d eaten in days and he held back a thankful moan at the feeling of sudden nourishment. Now all he needed was a gallon of water, a T-shirt, and a good shower...Dr. Brown always wiped James down with sanitary wipes after every experiment but James was starting to be able to smell himself. He felt sticky, sweaty, and overly warm all the time, and it made him squirm in his chair.

“So, Hunter,” James said as he was chewing a piece of apple, “how’d you start working for HYDRA?” 

Hunter looked surprised by his question and didn’t answer at first, bringing another forkful of food to James’ mouth. Pursing his lips, James almost didn’t think he was going to answer.

“I was recruited during a college orgs fair,” he said under his breath, and it was so unexpected that James choked on the food he was about to swallow.

Throwing his head forward to dislodge the piece of food in his throat, he was racked with coughs for several seconds before he could answer.

“A college orgs fair? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I’m a medical student at New York Med. During my very first week there, they had this fair,” Hunter continued, glancing at the door to make sure no one was about to come in, “where they said you could get involved in all kinds of cool, life-changing bio-medical studies and projects. Emmylou was there with her team of scientists and doctors, and they said that with my MCAT scores and my GPA from undergrad, I’d be a perfect candidate for their latest project.”

“Did they tell you what you’d be doing?” James asked quietly, trying to match the somber tone Hunter was using. Hunter was confiding in him. They were making a connection. Maybe, someday, Hunter would start to sympathize with James, and let him go, James thought.

“No, they just said that they’d pay off all my previous college debt, put me through medical school, provide me with housing and food and money for my textbooks...they never told me that they were doing tests on...” Hunter’s voice trailed off and he stared at the tile floor, the fork clutched in his hand, as he was caught in some kind of distant memory.

“Humans. Tests on humans,” James finished. Hunter snapped his attention back to James and said in a high-pitched, nervous voice, “Well, the tests are...they ARE life-changing. We’re on the cutting edge of scientific research. What we’re doing is...it’s good. It’ll be worth it.”

He picked the tray up off James’ lap, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and rushed towards the exit. James hadn’t had more than five bites of food.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The director of HYDRA sat in her office, facing a giant, wooden-lined picture-frame window that looked out on the river. She loved the tranquility of the forest right after a gentle rainfall; all the trees were shaking with the heavy rain weighing down their leaves, the birds were singing softly, and the sun just barely peaking out over the top of the mountain, winking at her.

What she did not like was when her tranquil period was interrupted by knocking on her office door. She swiveled her chair around to face her desk and looked down at her lunch of a chicken salad sandwich and a bag of potato chips. Sighing, she realized that she wouldn’t have time to eat her lunch that day either.

“Come in,” she called, sweeping her lunch off her desk into the trashcan.

One of her employees, Dr. Brown, entered the room and closed the door carefully behind him before taking a seat in one of the two green armchairs that sat in front of her desk.

“What is it, Dr. Brown?” she asked him. If he was visiting her during their lunch breaks, then it must be urgent, she thought. Or else he wouldn't dare interrupt her.

“Director Peterson, I wanted to talk to you about an idea that came to me last night. It’s about James Barnes.”

“What of him?” Peterson asked, discreetly checking the watch on her left wrist. 12:35 it read, which meant that she only had a few more minutes before she had to leave for the meeting on the first level of the building. She’d need at least ten minutes to get there and set up.

“I don’t have much time,” she added. Dr. Brown nodded and held up a medical file that he’d pulled out of his jacket. 

“We’ve been administering the Prosteritis tablet every day for three days now-”

“Is he not making progress? If he’s not, I hardly think that this is a problem you had to bring to me. While I’m not a doctor, I’ve provided you with a very intelligent, highly capable medical staff to assist you in any way. They’re at your disposal, and-”

“No, Director, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here, George? I’ve a very busy woman,” she snapped. Her already-thin patience was deteriorating quickly and she gripped her hands together tightly in her lap to avoid slapping them down on the desk and ordering Dr. Brown out of her office.

“I was thinking of subjecting Barnes to aversion therapy and seeing how he reacts,” Dr. Brown dove right into it. Peterson narrowed her eyes and inclined her head, letting him know to continue. She wasn’t familiar with aversion therapy personally, but she’d heard of those kinds of trials when Pierce was director.

“Well, after we finish with the Prosteritis trials and the migraines cease, Barnes’ ability to focus will be so heightened that I think it would be a waste to just send him out in the field right away with no emotional ties to us.”

“Get to the point, Dr. Brown. I’m not following,” Peterson intoned. 

“With his heightened focus, he could very easily turn on us and we’d have little to no control over him. He could escape and we’d be unable to stop him. But instead of just wiping his memory like they used to do when Pierce was in charge, I think we should use those memories to make him hate his old friends and want to obey us.”

“And you’re going to accomplish this using aversion therapy? You’re going to hurt him while showing him, what, pictures or videos, of the Avengers?”

“Yes,” Dr. Brown said, licking his thin lips in growing excitement, “and we’re also going to make him feel good and comforted while showing him pictures of you.”

“Me?” It wasn’t what she expected to hear him say.

“Yes. Since you’ll be giving him his primary orders on missions, if we can make him love and respect you, and hate and fear the Avengers, we could let him off his leash on missions and we wouldn’t have to fear him trying to escape.”

She considered the idea for a few seconds, leaving Dr. Brown to sit in the chair impatiently while he tried to guess what she was thinking. She reluctantly agreed that it was a good idea. It was well thought-out and smart; clearly, he’d put a lot of thought into it and was ready to implement it. 

“And you’re fairly certain that it will work?” 

“Our data has shown that it has a 85% success rate. And if it doesn’t work, it’s not a whole loss. It doesn’t cost anything, I can use the projector from the fourth floor to show pictures of the Avengers, and we can start the tests as soon as the drug trial is over. Which will be on Friday, hopefully.”

“Okay. You have my permission to proceed. But one small adjustment...don’t you think it would work better if for the acclimation therapy, instead of just showing him pictures of me, he could interact with me. We could meet in the first floor lounge for a few hours every day and I could give him food and let him talk to me and maybe that would work better.”

“That would be perfect!” Dr. Brown exclaimed. “We were going to suggest that but we weren’t sure you’d go for it. That settles it, then. Thank you, Emmylou.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter has to choose his path when he is given an ultimatum by Dr. Brown: either perform an unnecessary medical procedure on James or be a part of the horror show that is the aversion therapy they have planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It has a good amount of medical terminology and I had to do a bit of research to understand how the procedure worked, so if you know a lot about medicine and/or catheterization, and some things I wrote aren't exactly correct, I'm sorry in advance! I don't have any prior experience with catheters and I don't work in the medical community, but I did the best I could! As always, feel free to leave me your comments and thoughts about the chapter!

Even though Dr. Brown enjoyed wiping James down when he accidentally relieved himself during the experiments, he decided to install a catheter so that James wouldn’t need to go to the bathroom when he wasn’t around to clean him up. They weren’t feeding him enough to make him need to relieve himself that often, but Dr. Brown knew that for the aversion therapy, James would need to be well-nourished so he'd have his strength. 

He also decided that he wanted Hunter to have a more hands-on approach with the patients, so during their lunch break, he told Hunter to install the catheter. Hunter stared at Dr. Brown as he choked down a mouthful of rice and swallowed. 

“Dr. Brown, I really think that’s a bad idea. I’ve only done that procedure a few times, and if I messed up, I could injure Barnes...in that area. And I read your proposal for the aversion and acclimation therapy, and he’d need his...h-his penis in good condition...so I really think that you should install the catheter instead of me,” Hunter explained, taking a drink from his mug of coffee. Dr. Rima, a HYDRA surgeon of the highest prestige sitting at the table behind them, tipped her chair back on two feet and piped in, “Installing a catheter is actually fairly simple.”

“Dr. Rima,” Hunter said with a small smile, for she was one of his favorite colleagues, “you’ve been out of medical school for over ten years. I don’t exactly have that kind of experience.”

“It’s practically non-invasive. All you have to do is-”

“Dr. Rima!” another med-student named Donald exclaimed around a bite of sandwich, “I’m trying to eat here! No talk of medical procedures, please!” 

“Sorry,” she said, waving him off. “But, Hunter, if you want, you can sit in on one of my surgeries and watch me install one in a patient. I’d be happy for you to join me.”

Hunter had heard talk from the other med students of the surgeries Dr. Rima and the other surgeons performed at the facility, and the stories had given him nightmares for days. They reminded him of the kinds of experiments Nazi doctors performed on his ancestors during the Holocaust. Shivering, he replied, “No, thanks. I’ll stick to patient care.”

Dr. Rima shrugged and tipped her chair back onto four legs, reaching into her bag of chips with a slightly disappointed face. “Your loss.” 

\---------------------------------------------------

Eventually, Dr. Brown had given Hunter an ultimatum. He could either install the catheter in James or he’d be in charge of administering the pain sequence when they started the aversion therapy. He chose the catheter gratefully. He loved healing people (it was truly his life calling), but seeing people in pain by his hand made his head burn and his palms sweat with guilt.

Hunter entered James’ room at seven o’clock in the morning with a rolling tray of medical utensils for the catheter insertion. He’d been up until 2 A.M. studying, and Dr. Brown had assured him that he wouldn’t mess up. Still, he was nervous and shaky as he rolled the tray over to James. James was asleep and didn’t wake at the sound of Hunter coming in, and for that, Hunter was thankful. He’d have to wake James up anyway, just so that he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up and Hunter was already in the middle of the procedure.

“James, wake up,” Hunter whispered, shaking James’ bare shoulder to rouse him from his sleep. James woke up with a glint of hope in his eyes that was quickly doused in confusion and worry when he spotted the tray of instruments. The color drained from his face like water being sucked from a straw, and Hunter was quick to explain what was happening.

“I’m going to install a catheter in you so that we can feed you more liquids and you don’t urinate on yourself.” At the mention of the catheter, James’ breathing become rough and his hands clamped down on the metal armrests. His wild eyes didn’t leave the tray. “If you think about it this way,” Hunter said quickly, “Dr. Brown won’t have to wipe you down after every experiment if I do this. It’s better this way.”

James didn’t seem to be reassured by this fact.

“Please don’t,” he pleaded, his voice rising as hysteria set in.

“It will be quick and painless. You won’t even feel it. You won’t even know it’s there,” Hunter promised. James glanced at the door and started shouting in panic, “Please, Hunter, God, please, don’t do this, please! Don’t do this to me!” 

“James, you need to calm down,” Hunter whispered urgently. “Or else Dr. Brown is going to come in here and do it himself. It won’t be painless if he does it. Is that what you want?”

Hunter was surprised by his own words. He usually wasn’t good at calming patients down, but James seemed to be put at ease by his words. Thinking it was a good idea to continue, he said, “I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” Or at least, I hope not, he added in his head.

“Okay,” James gasped, out of breath, almost as if he was about to have an asthma attack. That was strange, Hunter thought. There was no mention of asthma in his file...

“Do it. Just do it,” he added, his breathing slowing down as he stared down at his lap. Hunter noticed that his hands were still clenched on the armrests.

“Okay. Just try to relax and think of something else. I’m going to have to undress your lower half, but I won’t touch anything unnecessarily,” Hunter explained. James let out a small hiss of air between his teeth when Hunter started lowering his pants, but he lifted his bottom so that Hunter could fully pull his pants down to his thighs. He felt small and cold and exposed, but true to his word, Hunter set to work readying the instruments on the tray swiftly without looking at James. He lifted a syringe with a rubber, not a metal needle, tip, filled with clear, bubbly liquid and explained, “This is just a numbing solution called lidocaine gel. I’m going to apply some on and in the tip of your penis and then I’m going to hold a finger to the end to hold it in so it can start to do its job.”

Surprised by his own courage and professional mannerism, Hunter was becoming less and less nervous about the procedure. He could do it, he told himself. James trusted him and he should trust himself too. He reached out with a gloved hand and extended James’ penis, ignoring the small squeak James made at the touch, and inserted the liquid in the tip. He held a finger on the slit to hold it in and set the syringe back down on the tray. He could do it, he could do it, he kept repeating in his head like a mantra.

James was staring at the ceiling and even though his breathing was becoming shallow and uneven, his skin was a natural color and he wasn’t gritting his teeth or grabbing onto the armrests anymore. Probably pretending he was somewhere else, Hunter mused. After he was sure that the lidocaine gel had started to work, he pulled his hand away.

“Are you done yet?” James mumbled.

“No, not yet. I just applied the numbing gel. Now I’ll start the procedure.”

Hunter grabbed the adult-sized foley catheter and examined it. It was a little different than the one he’d practiced with, but it was no matter. It would be easier if James were in a position to bend and spread his legs, but Hunter wouldn’t dare release him. It was too risky, and the payoff wasn’t big enough to risk James hurting him or getting away.

He sterilized the catheter and then leaned forward to start the procedure. No foreskin, thank God, Hunter thought. He hadn’t practiced on doing the catheterization on anyone with foreskin. 

After putting the lidocaine on the catheter end, he gripped James’ penis again gently and pointed it at the ceiling. It took only sixty seconds at most to finish the procedure, and once he inflated the distal balloon inside James’ bladder and removed the catheter, he taped the tubing to James’ upper thigh so there would be no pulling or discomfort if he shifted around in the chair.

“All done,” Hunter said as he carefully pulled James’ sweatpants back up to his hips. James looked down at himself and then up at Hunter, his mouth twisting like he wanted to say something.

“Does it feel okay?” Hunter asked, suddenly worried that he’d done something wrong and James was in pain because of it.

“No, it feels fine...it stings a little though, at the tip.”

“That’s normal. It’ll go away after a few minutes,” Hunter assured him with a smile, pulling off his gloves and setting them down on the tray.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hunter asked, trying to tamp down his enthusiasm at completing a catheter instillation without any help or supervision. With a sudden flare of anger, James curled his lip and spit at him. Hunter backed away, hurt and confused by James outburst.

“You think I’m going to thank you for doing a medical procedure on me against my will?!” James snarled, and seeing that he was about to spit again, Hunter grabbed his tray and hurried towards the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as his hand touched the doorknob, uncomfortable tears springing to his eyes. Of course James wouldn’t thank him. Why had he been so stupid? “Never forget,” his conscience whispered, sinister in his head, “you’re hurting people, not helping people. Don’t ever forget that.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' starts a new kind of therapy, and it's worse than he could have imagined. Steve and Sam discover that someone they thought they could trust was involved in the kidnapping of James.

James couldn’t help but admit to himself that even though usually having the pill forced down his throat and the after-effects were more painful than hearing Steve and Sam having sex in the next room, he did notice that it gave him a strange sense of alertness and power. He found his adrenaline pumping like he was running a marathon only mere seconds after ingesting the pill. His temperature had stopped rising every time he took the pill, and this time, after Dr. Brown forced him to swallow it, he braced for a pain that didn’t come. Only a small pulsing headache that he could easily endure resulted from the drug, and as Dr. Brown watched him carefully for any signs of distress, Hunter jotted down some notes on a clipboard.

“Do you feel any pain, James?” Dr. Brown questioned. After a small hesitation, James shook his head.

“Hunter, write that down. Day seven, no pain experienced by the subject.”

“Already noted, sir. I’ve got eyes to see with,” Hunter said. That was one thing that had changed in the past few days that scared James shitless. After Hunter had put the catheter in, he had started to become more confident and outgoing, speaking freely with Dr. Brown and questioning James about his well-being and pain levels. If James had any chance of getting out of there, he knew that he need a scared, anxious, empathetic Hunter, not the confident, head-strong doctor he was becoming. Ruthless, James thought. He would soon become ruthless, and James wouldn’t stand a chance at convincing him to let him go.

“Very well. We can end this trial and begin on the next one. Which therapy is the correct one to start with, aversion or acclimation?” Dr. Brown asked, addressing Hunter. The younger doctor looked over James emotionlessly and chewed his lip in thought. James waited tensely for his answer.

“If you start with acclimation, then all that work will be undone by the aversion. But if you start with aversion, the damage done there can be repaired by Emmy during the acclimation,” he explained, and Dr. Brown nodded, his mouth stretching out in a proud smile.

“Well done, Hunter,” he said, walking over to the younger man and leading him out of the room by his arm. James didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but it didn’t sound pleasant. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve was in the shower, but his superhuman hearing allowed him to hear when Sam got back from his meeting with Maria. Sam hadn’t let Steve come because he was too afraid of Steve’s possible reaction if Maria had bad news.

He scrubbed his scalp harshly under the steaming stream of water to get the shampoo out and then switched off the water, grabbing the dark towel beside the sink. He was mostly dry when he stumbled into the kitchen, eagerly shrugging into a bathrobe so he could talk to Sam. 

Sam was unloading a brown paper grocery bag on the counter, pulling out various fruits, a loaf of bread, and a six-pack of cheap beer.

“You went to the grocery? Why didn’t you come straight back?” Steve asked, standing behind Sam and demanding an answer with his silence.

“I didn’t go to the grocery. Maria gave me this. She wanted to make sure you were eating,” Sam said quietly.

“I’m eating fine,” Steve snapped, “now, what did she say about Bucky? Did they get the surveillance footage of the alley?” 

When Sam continued unpacking the bag silently, Steve walked over to him and slid the bag away, out of Sam’s reach.

“Baby, talk to me. What did Maria tell you?” he asked gently, feeling his heartbeat start to quicken. It was clear Sam was being evasive about something, and if snapping at him didn’t work, he’d try patience instead. Sam’s face was smooth and emotionless.

“Someone deleted the surveillance footage of the alley outside the opera house. This was premeditated and professional. We still don’t have any information about who took him.”

“Jesus.” Steve pulled away from Sam when the other man tried to comfort him, and he headed towards his bedroom to get properly dressed.

“Steve, wait,” Sam called, in a voice urgent enough to make Steve’s steps falter. He turned back to his boyfriend, and there were tears in his eyes, a rare occurrence. Steve’s heart clenched, not at Sam but at what Sam’s tears meant, and he waited for the news Sam had held back.

“There’s something else.”

“Yes, Sam, what is it? Please, don’t sugar-coat it. Just tell me.”

“James’ psychologist has gone missing. Apparently, she told her husband that she was going out of town for the day, and he hasn’t heard from her since. That was five days ago. She took her newborn baby with her, and no one’s been able to locate them. An Amber Alert’s been put out for the kid but Maria thinks that Dr. Daley is involved.”

“Involved?”

“Working with or for whoever took James. Maria thinks that she helped them take James.”

\-------------------------------------------------

James woke up when he felt a small tugging of his catheter and opened his eyes to find that Hunter had emptied it, deflated it. and was pulling it out. It was a welcome relief, with a bit of a stinging feeling at the tip of his penis but nothing major to make him uncomfortable. Dr. Brown was observing quietly by the door as Hunter put the used catheter and tubing in a sterile container and handed it off to a man in a white coat who James had never seen before. The man took the container and left the room, presumably to dispose of it.

When Hunter started to reach into his pocket, Dr. Brown said, “Hunter, the slides? They have to be set up before preparing the patient.”

“Right. Sorry, I forgot,” he said, his face turning red as he disappeared behind James’ chair, out of James’ line of vision. Though he didn’t feel Hunter touching him or anything, his panic level rose to dangerous heights at not being able to see the man. The lights dimmed, clouding them in almost-complete darkness, and the blank white wall in front of James lit up as an image was projected onto the surface. 

It was an image of Steve, his dear Steve, in the midst of battle. James wondered where HYDRA had even gotten this image. Steve was standing in the middle of a highway, his face streaked with grime and blood, holding his shield up in front of him to block an onslaught of gunfire. His face was serious and scared, but worst of all, angry; James had never seen him look like this before. Even when Steve had first come to see James in the hospital, he’d only been scared, terrified, but not angry. James believed that this Steve in the image could kill someone, and wanted to.

Out of nowhere, Hunter’s hand appeared in the right corner of James’ vision and stabbed him in the side of the neck with a needle, injecting something. James groaned in pain when the needle was taken away, and Dr. Brown slipped out of the room, closing the door behind himself. The last James saw of him was his dangerous smile. James was certain that Dr. Brown was watching him through some kind of hidden camera or hole in the wall.

When the injection started to take effect, it gave him a strange, itchy feeling that made him want to throw off all his clothes, like he was covered in tiny bugs. He was gritting his teeth so hard that he realized he tasted blood, and when he looked back up at the image in front of him, Steve was shimmering and growling like an angel of hell. A terrifying angel. Who was this man? He surely didn’t look like the Steve James had grown to know.

As something sharp pierced the side of his neck again, the image of Steve started moving. Through the pain, James recognized that it was a video. Steve was still on the bridge, sprinting on the sidewalk, his shield held in front of him to block the bullets raining down on him. Something hard and rubber was shoved into James’ mouth, a mouth guard, and he bit down on it just as the pain in his neck started to drag down towards his chest and he could no longer stay silent through the pain.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter starts the aversion therapy on James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to be posted, but alas it is here and I'll hopefully be posting chapters more regularly now! Please enjoy and don't be afraid to leave a comment below!

When the hallucinogenic drug started to wear off, James was just stuck in the seat staring at a large picture of Steve projected on the wall, the last one Hunter had shown him. The blond haired man was standing over James in the picture, a knife in his hand, his teeth bared and his eyes wild. James couldn’t look away; he knew it was likely that HYDRA had fabricated that picture but he couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of fear run through him. The picture looked familiar, like he’d seen it before. But from his perspective, while he was laying on the sidewalk and Steve crouched above him, just like the picture showed...

No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t -- James’ thoughts were cut off when something scorching clipped onto the back of his neck and he felt a jolt go through him like a lightning strike, making him shudder. He felt no pain at first, only smelled the scent of burnt hair, but then the clip on his neck started to pierce his skin and he hissed in pain. He felt Hunter inject him a second time in the neck, beside the spot where they were burning him or shocking him, and his vision became blurry once again.

The walls seemed to be turning green and James held his breath, feeling as though his chair was tipping over sideways. As his stomach dropped into his toes, he couldn’t hold back the string of curses that came with feeling like he was falling backwards off a cliff, that wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. He shuddered with confusion and pain, trying not to throw up, when the door to the room opened and a figure seemed to glide in. Another burn came to the back of his neck and James felt his whole body twitch, his fingers seizing, even the metal ones, and an uncontrollable lash of pain coursed through him.

“Aaagghh! P-please d-d-don’t,” he gasped as the figure made its way across the room to him. It wasn’t Dr. Brown, and James remembered vaguely that Hunter was standing behind him, torturing him, so who...

Another harder, sharper, hotter stab to the back of his neck and James jerked bodily against his restraints with a hoarse scream. Liquid trickled from his eyes, but whether it was blood or tears, he did not know. A hand came around the side of his face, James thought maybe to silence his screams, or to suffocate him, but something small was shoved into his mouth. A pill, he recognized. He swallowed it before Hunter could pinch his nose shut.

The figure was standing in front of him now, black and blurry around the edges, and James was shaking with pain and fear, trying to get his eyes to adjust, trying to see who this mysterious man was. A limb, an arm, reached out to him, touched his cheek and-

James was suddenly on the floor, his knees slamming into cold tile, the restraints gone from his body. He struggled to get to his feet, to move, to do anything to protect himself but rough hands surrounded him and he was held down to the floor, his face smashed into the tile. His heartbeat was thumping in his ears and amidst the wailing of what sounded like sirens, cold hands grabbed at his waist. Suddenly, he felt cold, wrong, exposed, alone...what was happening? He tried to turn his head and look behind him to see who was doing this to him but was rewarded with a punch in his shoulder that he knew would cause a bruise for weeks. Someone must have hit me with a billy club, James thought weakly.

James’ body was dragged backwards a couple inches and he felt someone strong and warm crawl on top of him, someone heavy, suffocating. He wheezed out, “Please, don’t!” but the man wrapped a large hand over his mouth. James was assaulted by the smell of cologne, some kind of cologne; he was shocked to realize that he recognized it. But from where? He didn’t know. 

And then a low, calm, familiar voice, a voice James had listened to talk to him for hours, a voice he had trusted, from a person he thought he might love, whispered in his ear, “You know you want to, Bucky.”

“Steve,” James choked out, slamming his forehead into the floor, allowing the dizzying pain to momentarily distract him from the much more pressing pain of betrayal. The hands on him rolled him over onto his back and he stared up at the figure on top of him, wearing a black ski mask with a mouth hole but...the proportions of the body were exactly right, the piece of straw blond hair sticking out from under the mask, the cologne was all too familiar...it had to be Steve. It had to be.

“No,” James whispered as the rest of his clothes were cut off him cruelly with scissors and knives, and he was naked, naked underneath Steve, but it felt wrong, all too wrong. He didn’t want this at all, not this way.

“Steve, don’t do this,” James begged as the other men around him pinned his flailing arms and legs down to the floor.

“Yes, you do.” The voice was muffled, but familiar, and beautiful and heinous.

“Not like this-”

Steve leaned down until he was flush against James and James had no choice but to stare up at the flashing, nauseating lights above him as the men maneuvered his body so that his knees were bent and his legs spread apart, bared open and ready for...James couldn’t even think his name. He knew that he was hard (he’d deduced that that was what the pill had been for) and Steve could feel it too, grinding his fully clothed body up against James’ shivering, naked one. The fabric of the ski mask rubbed against James’ jaw like carpet burn on his face as Steve quickly undressed himself, not even moving himself off of James to do it. James couldn’t look at the other man’s body, couldn’t imagine that this was actually happening-

And then something thin and warm and sharp pressed itself into James, between his legs, and he tensed up, trying to block its entrance but he couldn’t and there were more hands suddenly, pulling his legs further apart, making his muscles burn, grabbing his buttocks and forcing him to allow one of Steve’s dry fingers entry.

“P-please, Steve, n-n-nooooo, stop-p, pleaseeee!” James wailed, thrashing his head back and forth, the only part of his body he could move, and Steve’s lips were on his neck, sucking and sucking and sucking and the thing inside him was pushing harder but he was squeezing his insides as hard as he could to not let it in, to block it.

“Let’s try something else,” Steve told the men, and his finger slipped back out of James, who started sobbing in relief. James didn’t notice as Steve slithered down his body and rested his hot mouth against his thigh. Something wet enveloped James’ cock instead and it was so sudden and surprising that James’ hips automatically bucked up, forcing himself into Steve’s mouth.

“Ugnh!” James cried out when the men slammed his hips down, holding him to the floor so he couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, couldn’t even thrust as Steve’s mouth swallowed more and more of him down.

“Don’t come,” Steve pulled off to say quickly, and then he was right back on, swallowing James down, taking him down his throat as James tried to resist the urge to slam his hips up. Though the finger inside him had felt horrible and painful, James hated the way his body was responding to this kind of pleasure, a pleasure he couldn’t deny himself. One of the hands holding him down pinched his nipple and James let out a high-pitched, pained, breathy noise somewhere between a moan and a yelp.

“You like that?” the man said, and he leaned down to bite the nipple he’d pinched. But he bit much, much too hard and James was screaming now, thrashing and trying to pull away from the cruel man who had his nipple in his teeth, and when he pulled away, Bucky only saw a pair of pitiless, smiling lips shining in blood. 

“Please, Steve, stop,” James begged, delirious from the pain in his bleeding nipple and the pleasure from having Steve’s glorious mouth on him, licking and sucking and tasting. He knew he was so close to coming, and he didn’t want to, didn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction, wanting to spare himself the embarrassment and shame.

“Don’t come,” one of the men reminded him, but James shook his head and cried, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna! Please, Steve, please! Stop, now!” 

“Come, and we’ll have to punish you,” another man repeated and this time James recognized the sparkling blade of a weapon out of the corner of his eye, resting lightly against his ribcage. 

Isn’t this punishment enough? James thought in the haze of pleasure and agony.

“I can’t help it! Make him sto-o-o-op! Oh, oh, oh my god, Steve, oh g-god.” Steve was doing some vibration with his mouth, humming or something, and James couldn’t help but throw his head back and unwind underneath the men, squirting his cum down the back of Steve’s throat, straining to reach down and grab Steve’s head with his hands. As he started to float down from his orgasmic high, he felt the sharp blade of the weapon slicing his chest a split second before someone above him shoved their cock down his throat, cutting off his air supply.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James assesses his injuries from the aversion therapy and makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know it's been forever since I've posted a chapter but I've got my mojo back and I'm going to try and post more often now! I hope you enjoy the chapter, and as always, feel free to leave a comment below!

James wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there on the floor, but it felt like an eternity. The various pills had long since worn off and now he simply stared up at the ceiling, at the lights that were no longer pulsing, and waited for someone to come and collect him. Surely, they’d put him back in the chair, right? Eventually, they’d have to feed him, he thought logically. They’d need to feed him if they were going to hurt him some more.

He fell asleep sometime later and was woken up again by the soft sound of someone singing. It was a familiar song, and he wondered idly if his mother had sang that song to him when he was a child.

“ _Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird_ ,” the voice sang slowly, and he felt a cooling sensation on his wounds, a numbing that edged the pain away and replaced it with cold. 

“ _And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a hammock swing_ ,” the voice continued, and though James tried to open his eyes, the singing and the sweet sensation of relief in his bones was too much, so he settled for staying still and letting the pain ebb away.

“ _And if that hammock swing won’t go, Mama’s gonna buy you a pretty bow._ ”

“Who’s there?” James managed to say, but the voice didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t stop with its song.

“ _And if that pretty bow don’t shine, Mama’s gonna make little Emma mine._ ”

“Who’s there?” He finally had enough strength to open his eyes and he saw a woman’s head above him, peering down at him. The glowing lights created a halo around her beautiful blond mane and she smiled cheekily at him before her face disappeared from view. He felt hands on his sides and his shoulders, and suddenly, he was sitting up against the wall, gasping from the effort. The woman had dragged him into a sitting position and now sat facing him, cross-legged, wearing a hospital gown.

She smiled again like a child and simply said, “Hi.”

Looking down at himself, James saw for the first time the damage the men had truly done to him. Though he couldn’t feel any pain, he saw a deep stab wound at the curve his breastbone, and one of his nipples was scabbed and bloody. His leg hair was matted with blood and as he raised his flesh hand to his face, he felt what seemed like a tender bruise on his cheekbone. His left shoulder blade also felt a little sore.

“Who are you?” James asked the woman, who stared at him with an innocent, distant expression. When she didn’t answer, James looked her over carefully and realized she might be mentally handicapped. She wasn’t talking, just humming her song, and when he met her gaze, she looked away as if embarrassed.

“I’m Emma,” she said finally, reaching a hand out, which he reluctantly shook. There was a gash much like the one on his chest on the inside of her bicep.

“I’m James. Are you...are you a patient too?” he asked, and she nodded, her expression becoming somber and pitifully sad.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m a patient,” she explained in a childish voice, nodding more vigorously.

“Emma,” he said carefully, “do you know where the door is? Do you know how to get out of here?”

Her eyes widened like saucers and her nodding turned into the shaking of her head as she babbled, “No, no, no, we can’t get out, no, they’ll hurt us bad, no, we can’t leave, no, no.”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay, Emma. Calm down,” he said quickly as she scurried away from him like a frightened animal and brought her knees up to her chest. He saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear and quickly averted his eyes.

“ _And if that glowing goose don’t run,_ ” she started singing, watching him fearfully from the other end of the room, her chin on her knees, “ _Mama’s gonna buy you a loaded gun_.”

James couldn’t remember his mother or any songs she might have sung to him as a child, but he was pretty sure none of them would include such strange and unnerving lyrics.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her, but her voice rose to sing louder than he was talking, and he settled back against the wall to wait out her song. Emma eventually went silent but didn’t go back to sit near James for hours, and he sat completely still as though not to spook her. When she finally came back over and poked at his leg curiously, like he was some kind of foreign species, he asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Forever and ever,” she responded matter-of-factly.

“And you’ve never wanted to escape before?”

She glanced up at him with an expression that for the first time matched her age.

Gulping audibly, she reached down to poke at his metal hand and whispered, “No way to escape, Jamie. No way.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Emma fell asleep with her head resting on James’ leg and he slowly stroked her hair with his flesh hand, trying to comfort her. He wasn’t sure if she’d been like that before she’d been captured or if what HYDRA had done to her had completely unhinged her, but either way, she seemed to be his only friend at the moment, and for that he was grateful. His feeling of relief and exhaustion was instantly snatched away when Dr. Brown and Hunter came to collect her. He didn’t bother fighting them when they lifted Emma to her feet and half-dragged, half-carried her from the room. He knew he was too injured and starving to fight them anyway, and he’d lose, hurting himself most in the process. For now, all he could do was pray for her and hope she was a survivor like he was.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as Dr. Brown closed the door to James’ cell, Emmylou straightened up and shrugged Hunter’s hands away from her.

“That was great, Director Peterson; really, well done,” Dr. Brown gushed, handing her back her ID badge, which she clipped to the collar of her hospital gown.

She sneered at Hunter’s offer to dress her wound and journeyed back up to her office in the service elevator, not wanting to come across any of her subordinates looking like she did. Once safely in her office with the door locked, she took off the hospital gown and carefully folded it, stowing it away in a desk drawer. A blouse and a skirt were waiting for her on her desk and she dressed herself quickly, clipping on the ID badge once again to her collar. She dabbed at the self-inflicted cut on her upper arm with a cotton ball dipped in antiseptic and wrapped her bicep in gauze. Thankfully, neither Dr. Brown nor Hunter came knocking at her office door, and she finally had ten goddamned minutes alone to finally eat her lunch.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is just starting to connect with Emma when she is snatched away again suddenly and James is forced to endure his torture alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm posting another chapter! This one is longer than all the others (I think?) so it took me longer to post but I hope you like it! As always, feel free to leave comments below!

Director Peterson decided to do one more session of acclimation therapy with James before they continued his torture. She wanted him to see her as just as much of a victim as he was, and he couldn’t see her at all when he was in pain, in case seeing her and feeling pain accidentally created a link in his mind. He needed to fear for her, want to protect her, like her, and respect her. It would be an added bonus, she thought, if he was attracted to her, but she’d have to deal with that later. She hadn’t decided yet how far she was willing to go into character for him.

While Dr. Brown and Hunter went into James’ cell to clean him up a bit, Emmylou changed into her hospital gown and stood in the middle of her office with a knife. She hadn’t wanted anyone else creating her wounds because she would be unable to control them if they hurt her too much, but now, holding the knife firmly in her grip, she was unsure whether she could actually hurt herself badly enough.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she pressed the intercom button on her office phone and said, “Donald, send Dr. Forte up to my office.”

Michael Forte, a balding doctor who used to work for Pierce, appeared in her office minutes later with his briefcase and carefully shut the door behind him. He kissed Emmylou’s cheeks formally and said, “What can I do for you, Director?”

“Mike, thank you for coming,” she said, “As you know, I’m involved in the acclimation therapy for a patient and I’m seeming to be having a little trouble...” She handed him the knife reluctantly, glancing at his expression. He seemed unperturbed as he weighed it in his hands.

“I’m supposed to be injured for him to feel pity and adoration towards me, but I can’t seem to hurt myself. You’re one of the only people here I actually trust enough to do it, so would you mind...?”

“Not at all,” the older man said, setting his briefcase down on her desk.

“I need to look battered. And don’t stop even if I beg you to,” Peterson explained, stepping up to him, holding out her arms. Dr. Forte nodded, and before she could even ready herself, he was grabbing her wrist and shoving her to the ground, the knife gripped tightly in his other hand.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James sat still and silent against the wall as Hunter clinically scrubbed him down with a wet washcloth and Dr. Brown brushed the tangles out of James’ overgrown hair; he wasn’t delicate about it, and James had unwelcome tears brimming in his eyes by the time it was finished. Surprisingly, they pulled him to his feet as if he couldn’t kill them with one sweep of his metal arm, and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. Together, they led him out of the room for the first time.

Outside the door, there was a brightly-lit white hallway, empty of people, but James was hyperaware of his nudity as he was led away from the room with the dental chair. A man in a lab coat came out of one of the doors off the hallway, and James stiffened as the doctor passed them with a quiet greeting to Dr. Brown.

He was led further down the hallway until they got to a fork, and Dr. Brown led him to the left. They arrived at another door, unmarked and white, and pushed James through roughly. 

Instead of a clinical-looking lab room like the other place he’d been kept, this room reminded him more of a dirty prison cell. The floor and walls were made of metal and there were chains coming off of grounded iron rings to lock people to. The room stank of bleach like it had recently been cleaned and Dr. Brown walked him over to one of the chains. After taking off the handcuffs, he put them back on James’ flesh wrist and locked the handcuffs to a string of chains.

“What would you have done if I’d fought you?” James asked as Dr. Brown headed to the door. Hunter nodded at James and said, “That’s what I’m here for.” He exposed a gun he’d been hiding inside his lab coat.

When they were both gone, James sat down on the freezing metal floor and leaned his head back against the wall. The cuff around his wrist wasn’t too uncomfortable, and at least he could move around a few feet instead of being locked to a chair. He was too cold, and couldn’t help the shivering that started in his body, but he knew that it wasn’t cold enough for him to freeze. They wouldn’t let that happen to him. He let his eyes drift shut and considered getting a few hours of sleep while he waited for the next round of torture he was sure was coming.

At the same of the door opening, James launched himself to his feet. After last time, he’d much rather go down fighting, but he was suddenly ten degrees colder when he saw Emma being pushed into the room. The door slammed shut behind her without her being handcuffed to the wall.

She was shaking violently, not because of the cold, like James was; she’s covered in bruises and fresh, still-bleeding wounds all over her arms and stomach. Her hospital gown was mostly in tatters.

Before James or Emma could say anything or move, the ceiling made a grating noise and the room was sprayed with water as if the sprinklers had gone off. The water was neither overly cold nor overly warm, but Emma shrieked as if she’d been sprayed with lemon juice on her wounds and dropped to her knees.

“Emma, it’s okay, it’s just water. Come over here, come here,” he urged, but she hunkered down and covered her head as the water continued to soak her and she continued to scream like a banshee. James couldn’t reach her, and when he stretched the full length of the chain, he realized that he was still several feet away from her.

“Come here, I can shield you from the water!” he said, and she instantly scrambled over to him, grabbing his shoulders and letting him tuck her underneath him, mostly shielded from the blast. He could still hear her whimpering as he wrapped himself around her and whispered calming words, and eventually, the water stopped falling. He was almost sorry to see it go; it was the closest thing he’d had to a shower in weeks.

As soon as the water cut off, Emma jumped away from James with horrified eyes and yelled, “You’re naked!” She tucked what was left of her hospital gown, which didn’t cover much, over her genitals and breasts.

“I know. I’m sorry, they didn’t give me any clothes,” he explained slowly, but she just looked over him slowly like she’d never seen a naked man before. James wondered if she was a virgin; she looked about thirty years old, and most thirty year olds had had sex before, but he had no idea what her situation had been before she got there.

She looked down at herself, as if she was comparing her own body to his, and said, “You’re darker than me.”

It was so surprising and unexpected that that was what she commented on when comparing their bodies that he actually laughed out loud. It was the first time in a long time, probably before he tried to kill himself, but it made him feel free and easy. Emma stared at him as if he was the crazy one.

“I am darker than you. You’re very pale,” he told her. She nodded seriously and clutched her gown more tightly around herself.

“How come you have something down there and I don’t,” she continued, gesturing vaguely towards his penis. He had the urge to cover himself but he didn’t want to frighten her and make her think she wasn’t allowed to talk about that kind of stuff.

God, I can’t believe I have to explain this to an adult, he thought, but he wanted to educate her and didn’t want her to be confused.

“Men and women have different anatomy.” 

When she looked more confused, he said, “Um, men have these...” He gestured down at himself. “...and women have a hole-type thing instead. Like you do.”

With fearful eyes, she slowly looked down at herself and started to spread her legs to check between her thighs. James quickly glanced away as she examined herself. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, and when he looked back at her, she was curled up on her side, facing him, her hospital gown covering everything. Her wounds had stopped bleeding and she simply stared at the wall beside James, a vacant look on her face.

“You think I’m gross,” she whispered, but for some reason, James didn’t think she was talking to him. She said it pathetically, longingly, like someone long ago had said it and she was just now remembering it.

“You’re not gross,” James said, but she didn’t respond, or even look at him. Ignored completely, James tilted his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he finally woke up, Emma was gone. The only proof that she’d ever been there were a few streaks of blood along the floor, but that was it. He felt panic grip his heart as he imagined Dr. Brown and Hunter coming in, grabbing her by the arms, and dragging her screaming from the room. Why hadn’t he woken up? She must have been screaming. I could have protected her, he thought errantly, though he knew in reality there was nothing he could have done.

There was a lot of waiting before Dr. Brown came for him. He thought they’d want to get on with it, but he was surprised as it seemed like a whole day passed before the door opened and Dr. Brown, along with several other masked men, slipped inside. Dr. Brown was carrying a whip and James couldn’t help the shudder that ripped through him.

“What’d you do with Emma?” he demanded.

The men with Dr. Brown came forward and James struggled feebly as one of them injected him in the leg with a needle and the others attached more cuffs and chains to his wrist and ankles. He was unable to get away and as the men backed up, Dr. Brown said, “That’s good enough. Thank you, gentlemen.” They left the room as quickly as they’d come in.

Dr. Brown simply watched James as his heartbeat started to quicken and his palms started to sweat. The water that soaked his body was drying and he started to wonder if he was having a heart attack. Was this what near-death felt like? 

“Perfect. Hunter, cue the slides,” Dr. Brown called out, and the room’s lights dimmed as above Dr. Brown’s head, a picture of Steve appeared, clear and bright enough to make James wince. This man had viciously attacked him days ago...hadn’t he? James was terrified and shivering as he realized it was becoming more and more difficult to discern reality from fantasy.

The crack of a whip made James yelp and try to curl in on himself, anything to block the lash from hitting him in the face, but the chains held him splayed out on the floor, and he couldn’t stop the tip from slashing down in the middle of his chest. He screamed as fire lanced through his body and he could practically feel the whip tearing apart the skin between his nipples. Dr. Brown dragged the metal tip of the lash away from him and James cried, “Please, stop! Stop!” He was met with another slash along his chest, straight over the first one, and he jerked uncontrollably in the chains, feeling tears already starting to track down his cheeks. The pain was unimaginable and didn’t subside between whip strokes, only increasing as Dr. Brown hit the same place over and over, and while James shrieked and begged for mercy, he couldn’t stop himself from staring straight into the eyes of a projected Steve Rogers.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Daley is introduced to Emmylou Peterson, the newest director of HYDRA, and James is tortured for information about the recently-escaped "Emma".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been forever since I've posted a chapter but I hope it was worth the wait!

It had been four weeks since James had gone missing from the opera house, and Steve was furious with himself for getting into the routine of not actively searching for him every day. Steve had gone for so long without Bucky (and thinking he’d never see Bucky again) before James had reappeared by jumping off that building two and a half months ago that it was easy, practically natural, for Steve to forget about him. Sometimes he’d wake up with Sam by his side and for a moment, he’d wonder what his plans were for that day. Maybe he’d go to work with Sam. Maybe he’d look for a job of his own. Maybe he’d spend time with Tasha. And then he’d remember that it was Natasha who’d lost James, and he’d remember James was gone, probably in some bunker somewhere with Pierce and his minions, and he’d feel ill and he’d wake Sam and they’d spend the day making a game plan for how they’d go about looking for James. But sometimes, Steve would wake, make coffee, plan his day, and no one would mention James, and he’d forget completely until he went to bed that night that the bedroom beside his own was empty because James was missing.

Dr. Daley and her daughter had still also not been found, and her husband called Steve constantly to ask for updates. Everyone knew that wherever James was, Dr. Daley was probably closeby. It was assumed that Dr. Daley was working for whoever took James; hell, Steve even wondered if maybe she’d taken him herself. Maybe she’d been orchestrating the kidnapping plot all along during their therapy sessions. He simply didn’t know, and it was driving him crazy. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come in,” Emmylou called after the knock on her office door, and when she looked up from the paperwork she’d been filling out, she saw the two men she’d sent out bringing Dr. Daley into the office. The doctor looked like she’d been dragged straight from bed in the middle of the night, still wearing her matching pajamas, except she had on a backpack that Emmylou had made sure the men forced her to bring along. She also carried a sleeping baby in her arms.

The doctor was silent, glaring at the men who’d seized her as Emmylou nodded at them and gestured for them to leave the office. Once the door was closed, Dr. Daley turned to her and said, “I demand to know what’s going on.”

“Oh, really?” Emmylou responded, raising an eyebrow. They both knew Daley was in no place to demand anything, and the Director was sure the doctor had seen the guns her captors carried.

“Do you work for the government? Because if you’re detaining me, I wasn’t read my rights and the manner in which I was taken-”

“We aren’t part of the government.”

Daley steadied herself, holding the baby tighter to her chest, before asking, “So, you’re just kidnapping me?”

“Essentially.”

“Who are you people?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about us from your new patient, James Barnes. You are his therapist, are you not?”

Emmylou tried to hold her smile back as she got to witness the mirage of emotions that crossed Daley’s face: confusion, nervousness, the dawn of understanding, fear, and finally, horror.

“You’re...you’re...HYDRA,” she stuttered, “Why did you kidnap me?” 

“We have James in our custody, and since you worked closely with him on the outside, I thought you could be of use to us.”

Dr. Daley’s stomach plummeted as she realized that they also needed someone to take the fall for James’ kidnapping, and she’d been the perfect candidate. To the outside world, she was a criminal, a kidnapper, a HYDRA agent who’d disappeared when James had. Only her and Emmylou knew the truth. Maybe they’d even told James that it was Daley who’d taken him in the first place.

“You can’t force me to help you,” she choked out automatically, knowing it was a lie. The men who’d kidnapped her had told her to bring the baby, and she knew it hadn’t been a mistake. Now she would do whatever they said just for the fear that they’d hurt her daughter if she didn’t.

“I’ll let you change out of your pajamas,” Emmylou told her, pointing to a door that led to the bathroom in her office. “And then I’ll introduce you to the new James Barnes.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emmylou walked down the hall towards the room where they were keeping Barnes, flanked by two armed guards, with Dr. Daley trailing behind. The doctor wore handcuffs around her wrists with a two-foot chain that one of the guards carried to make sure she couldn’t run, and Emmylou had made her leave the baby in the care of one of the other HYDRA agents upstairs. After descending two flights of stairs, Dr. Daley’s growing sense of dread had almost hit a peak. She had no idea what James would look like, or what they had been doing to him, but she knew for sure that she didn’t want to see. 

Emmylou swiped them through two doorways before they arrived in a small white room with three plaster walls and one glass one looking out on what seemed like a medical laboratory. The guard holding the chain attached to Daley’s handcuffs clipped his end to a metal loop in the wall and went over to a keypad on the glass wall. After Emmylou’s permission, the guard punched a code into the keypad, and people in white lab coats started to enter the laboratory.

“They can’t see us,” Emmylou informed Dr. Daley, “but we can see them.” 

The men and women in lab coats were rolling trays of medical supplies out of the room quickly and chatting in low voices, and Daley could swear she heard James’ name mentioned several times, though it was muffled through the glass.

“Please, just take me back to my baby. I don’t want to see this,” Dr. Daley pleaded, but Emmylou, who stood with her nose practically touching the one-way glass, didn’t respond. She was eager to see the progress the doctors had made since she’d last played Emma with James.

After the room was empty of trays and people, two guards brought James in through a door on the wall across from the one-way glass. Though Dr. Daley let out a startled gasp at the sight of him, Emmylou didn’t think he looked that bad. He had a few cuts healing on his face and one of his eyes was black and swollen, but they couldn’t even see the whip wounds on his back because he wore a grey T-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants. Emmylou knew that a few days ago he’d looked much worse. The guards let go of his arms at the center of the room and he dropped to his knees, unable to stay standing. Emmylou knew it was because his strength and will was gone from sleep deprivation, starvation, and constant torture.

As the guards left, James stayed kneeling on the floor, his head bowed, eyes closed. And Dr. Daley watched, holding her breath.

After a few seconds, the door into the laboratory opened again and another person walked in wearing a ski mask. Dr. Daley held in her surprised gasp this time, but through the mask, the man looked so much like Steve Rogers that she wondered for a moment if somehow he had been working for HYDRA. She knew that it couldn’t be true, but the man with the mask must have been chosen for his close physical similarities to Steve, or else he wouldn’t be there.

“Barnes,” the man said, slowly making his way to stand in front of the kneeling James. Dr. Daley was once again horrified to hear that he sounded just like Steve, but she noticed the tiny microphone clipped onto the collar of his black turtleneck and knew that somehow, someway, HYDRA was manipulating his voice to make him sound like Steve.

“Call him Bucky,” Emmylou said, touching a button on her earpiece. She got the satisfaction of watching out of the corner of her eye as Dr. Daley slowly started to understand what was happening.

“Why are you doing this to him?” she breathed.

“Bucky,” said Steve Rogers, “do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” James replied gruffly, but quickly, learned behavior from several weeks as HYDRA’s prisoner.

“You and I have a problem, Bucky. One of our other prisoners, one you spent time with, has escaped this facility, and has taken with her a very important piece of technology from our labs that we need back.”

“You’re talking about Emma,” James intoned, emotionless and forced. “She escaped?”

“She did. Stole a gun from one of our more easily persuaded medical assistants, and when we thought she was asleep, she killed the guards in her room and used their key cards and fingerprints to get out of her cell. She was gone before we realized what had happened.”

“Seems like you need better security.”

The fake Steve Rogers smiled. “We’re working on it. For now, we need something from you. We know you spent a lot of time with her, and we know she probably mentioned someplace special to you, something about where her home is, something like that. We need your help tracking her down.”

James’ nasty reply died on his lips as he suddenly remembered during one of Emma’s babbling monologues her mentioning that she came from a really quiet place, “a place where it was quiet always,” she’d said.

“So you do know where she is,” Steve said, seeing James’ eyes flicker with guilt. James opened his mouth to deny it but was met with a fist smashing him in the jaw, sending him reeling to the side and having to catch himself on the tile floor that was now splattered with blood from his mouth.

“Please, I don’t want to see this,” Dr. Daley said desperately, but Emmylou shushed her, her eyes glued to the scene before her. Whether James betrayed or protected Emma at this juncture was an important test for his acclimation therapy.

“I don’t know where she is,” James groaned, hoisting himself up on one elbow and crawling feebly away from the towering Steve, who easily followed his slow movement. 

“We know she talked to you. She was open and honest, nothing to hide. A simple girl. There’s no way she didn’t tell you.”

“She didn’t!” James insisted.

Dr. Daley let out an involuntary squeak as the masked man kicked James in the chest and had him toppling over again on his side, curling in on himself like an abused dog, unable to escape.

“I don’t know where she is; she didn’t tell me anything!” James wheezed, keeping his hands over the spot where Steve had kicked him. He felt an inner stabbing pain and knew one of his ribs was likely broken.

“You’re not very convincing, Bucky,” the man said, shaking his head in mock shame. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to believe you.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“How about this,” he said, squatting down beside James and grabbing his chin, forcing James to look straight into his familiar blue eyes. “If you tell us where she is, we’ll bring her back nice, safe, and sound. No harm, no foul.”

Steve leaned in and spoke then through clenched teeth. “If you do not tell us where she is,” he growled slowly and deliberately, “when we find her - and we will find her - she will be greatly punished, far beyond your wildest comprehension. Every tactic we have, every machine we can use, will be put to work causing her the most agony we can inflict, the most pain she can experience without dying. And after we are done, after we’ve driven her mad with torture, we will tell her who was truly behind her suffering: you.”

With Emma as his only friend in the place, James knew that if she became convinced that he’d sold her out, their friendship was over and he was back to being alone and helpless.

James hadn’t known what she meant by “a place where it was quiet always”, but he knew that she probably had some special needs, and may not be able to hide herself for very long. And if HYDRA found her and tortured her because of it, chances were that she wouldn’t understand why it was happening. If they told her they were hurting her because of James, she’d believe them.

“I see you thinking over my proposition,” Steve said, a smile crawling across his face. “It would be in your best interest, and hers, if you tell me what you know.”

In the end, James knew that all he could hope for was that they didn’t find her.

With an iron-clad resolve, James leaned up towards Steve, the pain in his chest making him wheeze from the effort, and whispered in Steve’s ear, “Go fuck yourself.”


	20. Performance Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see things from Emmylou's point of view as she continues to torture James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was M.I.A. for a bit, but I'm back, and with a new chapter no less! Enjoy.

Emmylou sat in her office, getting prepared for her role as Emmy, the dumb, simple girl who James was growing to love. Jeremy, Steve’s convenient look-alike at HYDRA, stood in the corner of the room as Emmylou stabbed a letter-opener into her left hand again and again, gasping at the pain but unable to stop. She got a rush every time the knife sliced her palm open.

“What will you have me do to him today?” Jeremy asked her, to take her mind off the pain. She gasped as she yanked the letter-opener out of her hand for the last time and dropped it on the carpet, bringing her injured hand to her chest.

“I want you to go all the way this time. No blow job bullshit this time,” she told him.

“And the rest of the plan remains the same?”

“Yes. I want you to drag me into the room, I want you to hurt him, incapacitate him, fuck him, and then beat the shit out of me.”

Jeremy hesitated before asking, “Are you sure you don’t want a safe word, Director Peterson? If I cross a line, I need you to be able to tell me.”

“If I were to use my safe word, it could ruin our whole operation. That can’t happen,” she explained, getting out of her desk chair and going over to the dresser by the window, where her bloody and ripped hospital gown was folded up neatly.

“Yes, but if you don’t have a safe word, I could really hurt you. For your safety, you should choose one. It doesn’t have to be obvious, just something that a patient would normally yell while being tortured, and if you use it, I know to go easier on you.”

Emmylou thought it over while she carefully undressed and then slipped the hospital gown over her head. She pulled her hair from its ponytail and rubbed her left hand over it, making it tangled and bloody.

“Fine. My safe word...my safe phrase will be ‘no more’. Does that make you feel better?” 

“Immensely,” Jeremy told her, pulling his ski mask out of his pocket and over his head. The phone on Emmylou’s desk beeped twice and then a voice came quietly: “We’re ready for you. The asset has been given the hallucinogen.”

“Are you ready?” she asked Jeremy, kicking off her shoes and slapping her cheeks lightly to make them red. She was nervous, as she expected she would be. A lot rode on this performance, and she would have to be beaten and fucked for it to be believable to James.

She and Jeremy walked down to the room together where James was kept, and outside the door, they looked at each other. 

“Make it believable,” she ordered, handing Jeremy the pill to make him hard. He swallowed it quickly.

“I will.”

“Now hit me.”

The anger had to be believable too, and the only way to do that was to start performing before they went into the room. Emmylou slapped Jeremy hard across the face with her bloody hand, and he grabbed her by the neck, slamming her back against the wall by the door. 

“Cocksucker,” she hissed, spitting in his face. He tightened his hands around her throat, bashing his forehead against hers. It made her dizzy, and she lost sight for a moment. When she could see again, she was being dragged into James’ room. 

James sat naked against the wall, his knees tucked underneath him, but when the door slammed open and Jeremy dragged Emmylou inside by the neck, he shot to his feet.

“You found her,” he exclaimed, and Jeremy threw Emmylou down at James’ feet. She scrambled towards him and grabbed his ankle, pretending to gasp for air.

“Jamie, what’s happening?” she whispered.

“We said if we found her, we’d hurt her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Bucky,” Jeremy told James, stamping his boot down on Emmylou’s hand and making her let go of James’ leg. She crawled away from him and Jeremy grabbed James head, slamming his face into the wall. James groaned and fell to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Emmylou watched in fascination as Jeremy kicked him in the chest; the sound of cracking ribs was audible. Incapacitated on the floor, groaning and bleeding from his nose, James was still. 

Jeremy turned on Emmylou and she felt herself automatically tense up. Even though she knew what was coming (she’d planned every move herself), she was still shaking with nerves. 

“Now you,” Jeremy said menacingly, and Emmylou braced herself as he dragged her to her feet by her hair.

“Don’t hurt her,” James coughed from the floor behind them, but he couldn’t move as pain lanced through his chest, half from the kick to the ribs and half from the drugs they had given him earlier. Jeremy had made sure James had landed on his right side so he had to watch as he beat the shit out of Emmylou. 

Jeremy slammed Emmylou against the wall the same way he had outside the room, and braced an elbow against her chest. Winding up his fist, he gave her a hard punch in the gut. 

It hurt just as much as Emmylou had expected, and she wheezed from the pain, wanting to fall to the floor, but Jeremy’s well-placed elbow kept her up. 

“Please, stop!” she wheezed, clawing at him with her fingernails, but pretending to be a little too weak to fight. He punched her again, and all the air left her lungs. She struggled to breathe as Jeremy dropped her to the floor and she drew in a lungful of air. It was moments like these where she didn’t need to act, she could just react, as if she was actually getting beaten. 

Jeremy stalked back over to where James was just picking himself back up, and kicked him in the jaw, sending him skidding across the tile floor. A trail of blood followed him. James was sobbing at this point, and Emmylou knew it was time to seal the deal. 

She backed herself into the corner of the room and hugged her knees to her chest, like a child would do. James had landed on his stomach, and his mouth was open against the floor as he struggled to breathe, blooding dripping from his open mouth. As he put his hands on the floor to push himself back up, Jeremy slammed his foot down on the small of his back and held him to the floor.

“Looks like someone needs to be shown who’s in charge,” Jeremy snarled, reaching down to unzip his pants. James took shallow, gasping breaths as Jeremy knelt down with his pants around his ankles and grabbed the back of James’ head.

“Are you going to spit on it, or should she?” he whispered as he untucked his dick from his pants. He had gone off-script, but Emmylou approved of his improvisation. When James didn’t reply, Jeremy let go of his head and came over to Emmylou, standing over her, slowly jerking himself. He held his other hand out in front of her mouth and said, “Spit.”

She collected a wad of saliva in her mouth, and spit it into his hand. He rubbed it over his dick as he came back to kneel over James’ shivering body. 

“Now it’ll be like she’s fucking you too,” he said, grabbing James’ shoulders and holding him down to the floor. James started to fight, trying to flip over, but Jeremy was bigger and stronger (and not injured), and he was no match for Jeremy. 

“Please, please, don’t do this, Steve,” James begged, and Emmylou pretending to gasp at the sight of Jeremy kneeling over James, pinning his arms behind his back. When Jeremy thrusted into James, James let out a long wail, and Emmylou matched it with a distressed wail of her own.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she begged, covering her eyes. She heard James and Jeremy grunt in unison as he thrusted again, and James’ quiet crying was the only other sound in the room. 

After a few minutes, Jeremy let out a deep moan and Emmylou uncovered her eyes to see Jeremy pull out, painting James’ scarred back with semen. 

She let out a shriek at the sight, and Jeremy turned on her, fire in his eyes.

“You better shut up, bitch, or you’ll be next,” he growled, but she continued to scream, and he came over to her, slapping her hard across the face. While she huddled on the floor, her hands on her cheek, he tucked himself back into his pants. 

“Please, leave her alone,” James croaked, but from the shock, he was unable to move, and had to simply listen and lie there on the floor as Jeremy grabbed Emmylou by the hair and dragged her to her feet.

“Make it believable,” she murmured under her breath.

“I will,” he promised gravely.

**Author's Note:**

> How did you like it? Comment below! Anything you wish to see in the next couple chapters?


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